In Another Life IV
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: Suggested by Zireh, yet another alternative universe story about the first meeting between Jack Napier and Harleen Quinzel. Thank you for suggesting, and enjoy! :-)
1. Chapter 1

**In Another Life IV**

_The Ace of Spades _was a cheap, dirty bar in one of the most run-down areas of Gotham City's lower East Side. It catered to the likes of thieves, local thugs, and various petty criminals, all of whom entered its dingy, smoke-filled premises in order to escape the difficulty of their own sorry lives. To the man entering the door at that moment, assaulted by the stench of smoke and unwashed bodies, the bar seemed like a circle of hell, where the scum of humanity went to indulge in their worst sins.

Not that this man was particularly religious, or self-righteous, or judgmental. He just didn't like dealing with criminals, and he could hardly be blamed for that. They were an untrustworthy bunch. But he didn't have a choice. A few days ago, a man in a fedora had entered the First National Bank, where he worked, around closing time, and had asked to speak to him, to present, in his own words "a business proposition." This so-called proposition was to aid in a robbery of the bank by unlocking a few doors, which he would have access to as a junior manager. The man had given him until today to decide, and told him to meet him at _The Ace of Spades_ at this appointed time to give him his answer. He had tried to refuse the man there and then, but the man had insisted that he think it over. He couldn't risk the man appearing in his place of work again, and he hated to cause a scene by going to the police and possibly risking a scandal and personal disgrace, so he made the decision to confront the man in the fedora where he had suggested, and give him his final answer.

He caught the eye of one of the men at the bar, whom he recognized as accompanying the man in the fedora. The man nodded at him. "He's waiting for you in the back," he muttered, nodding at the door by the bar.

He nodded, and opened the door. "Mr. Quinzel, right on time," said the man in the fedora, smiling at him. "Please sit down."

Mr. Quinzel obeyed. The man in the fedora struck a match on the wooden desk, bringing the flame up to light the cigarette in his mouth. His face was still hidden in shadow, but his eyes were fixed on the man seated in front of him as he smoked calmly. "Good to see you again, Mr. Quinzel," he said, smiling. "It's George, isn't it? Can I call you George?"

"No, thank you, I'd prefer if we remained on an unfamiliar basis," replied Mr. Quinzel, firmly.

The man in the fedora laughed. "So I take it my little business proposition is being rejected?" he asked. "You ain't changed your mind?"

"No, I haven't," agreed Mr. Quinzel. "Thank you for the offer, Mr. Napier, but I refuse to take part in any criminal activity whatsoever. No matter how much you promise to pay me. Now if that'll be all…" he said, rising.

"What's the hurry, George?" asked the man in the fedora, grinning. "Your wife expecting you back?"

"She is, actually," retorted Mr. Quinzel, coolly. "And I hate to keep her waiting."

"At least let me get you a drink before you head home," said Mr. Napier, standing up. "You probably need some liquid courage to face that family of yours. You got kids?"

"One," replied Mr. Quinzel, nodding.

"Hey, same here!" exclaimed Mr. Napier, beaming as he stood up to pour two glasses of whiskey from a bottle. "You and me, George, we're the same kinda man, deep down. I know that accent – Brooklyn native, ain't ya?"

"Yeah," agreed Mr. Quinzel. "Thank…you," he said, slowly, taking the glass from him.

"And I'm guessing not the rich part of Brooklyn," said Mr. Napier, chuckling to himself. "You're like me – moving to Gotham for a better life for your family." He sipped his drink. "Have you found it, working all day in a bank?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr. Napier, I have," replied Mr. Quinzel. "I'm proud of my job, and grateful that I can provide a better life for my family with it."

"Oh yeah, family's important," agreed Mr. Napier. "All you're gonna have left in the end."

He knocked on the door. A second later, it opened, and a young, teenage boy entered, dressed in the same shabby style as the man in the fedora, down to the hat itself.

"Yes, sir?" he asked.

"George, this is my son, Jack," said Mr. Napier, draping an arm around the boy. "I'm training him in the family business, so he can inherit it when I'm gone. Jack, this is George, junior manager at the First National Bank."

"Uh…pleased to meet you," said Mr. Quinzel, nodding at the boy.

"Yeah…uh…likewise," replied Jack, nodding.

"Now all I'm trying to do, George, is provide a better life for my son," said Mr. Napier, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "And you could help me with that. I mean, a family man like yourself has gotta understand the importance of taking care of your own kids. Don't matter if it's Jack or…what's your son's name?"

"I have a daughter," retorted Mr. Quinzel. "Harleen."

Mr. Napier laughed. "Good name," he said, grinning. "Harleen Quinzel. Pretty girl, is she?"

"She's four years old," retorted Mr. Quinzel. "But yes, someday she'll be a very pretty girl, just like her mother."

Mr. Napier exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Here's the thing, George," he said. "Wouldn't you do anything in the world for little Harleen? Beg, borrow, and steal for her? Well, that's how I feel about my Jack," he said, ruffling the boy's hair. "And the only way I'm gonna be able to provide for my Jack is with the skills I got. Namely, as a criminal. I mean, I ain't good with numbers and figures like you. But I am good at committing crimes. So that's what I gotta do. Every man has gotta use the talents he's got to provide for his family. And I'm asking you to help me do that. You can't refuse a fellow family man, can you, George?"

Mr. Quinzel cleared his throat. "I admire your sentiments, Mr. Napier, but putting aside any judgments about right and wrong, from a purely practical level, if I'm caught helping you, I'm gonna lose my job, and then I won't be able to provide for my own family. I'm not going to risk that. So I'm sorry, but it's still a no."

Mr. Napier continued to smile at him. "Oh well," he said, shrugging. "Worth a shot, anyway." He held out his hand. "Nice to have met you, George – you head back to that fine family of yours. Take care now."

Mr. Quinzel nodded and left. Mr. Napier watched him leave the bar, and then said softly to Jack, "Follow him and find out where he lives. Later on tonight, we're going to be paying him a little visit."

"Yes, sir," muttered Jack, heading out the door to shadow Mr. Quinzel.


	2. Chapter 2

"Look, Harley, Daddy's home!" exclaimed Mrs. Quinzel, as the door to the apartment opened and Mr. Quinzel entered.

"Daddy!" cried little Harleen Quinzel, rushing to meet her father. He lifted her up in his arms, beaming.

"Hi, princess!" he exclaimed, kissing her. "Did you have a fun day with Mommy?"

"We drew pictures," replied Harleen, holding up a piece of paper. "See? It's a clown, like we saw at the circus last week."

"That's right! He was funny, wasn't he?" asked Mr. Quinzel, as his wife came over to kiss him and help him off with his hat and coat.

"Yeah. I liked when his pants fell down and the dog started pulling on them, and he fell over!" laughed Harleen. Her father joined her in laughing as they headed over to the small table in the center of the room, where Mrs. Quinzel had prepared dinner.

"You know, when I was a boy, I wanted to run away and join the circus, but my parents insisted that I finish school," said Mr. Quinzel. "Wise people."

"I wanna join the circus when I grow up, Daddy," replied Harleen, nodding.

"You wanna be a clown, Harley?" asked her father.

"Maybe. Or an acrobat," said Harleen.

"You wouldn't be scared jumping around like that so high off the ground?" asked Mrs. Quinzel as she brought out the casserole.

"Nah uh," said Harley, shaking her head. "I ain't scared of nothing!"

Her father laughed. "My brave girl," he said, kissing her affectionately.

"How was work, dear?" asked Mrs. Quinzel, sitting down across from him.

"Oh, it was…uh…fine, Gladys," stammered Mr. Quinzel. "Same as usual, y'know."

"You're a little late getting back," she commented.

"Oh yeah, I just…uh…cut through the park," he said. "Felt like getting some fresh air."

"Who was the man following you?" she asked.

He stared at her. "What man?" he asked.

"Didn't you see him?" said Mrs. Quinzel, puzzled. "I was looking for you out the window, and there was this man trailing you to the end of the street. He stayed for a moment to watch you go inside, and then left. I thought he might be a friend of yours who was seeing you home."

"No, I…" stammered Mr. Quinzel, feeling his heart hammering in fear. "I…uh…I dunno who it was."

"Well, that's funny," said Mrs. Quinzel.

"Yeah…funny," agreed Mr. Quinzel. He cleared his throat. "Uh…look, Gladys, maybe we should…uh…go away for a couple days."

"Go away?" she repeated, surprised. "Why?"

"Just feel like…taking a vacation," he said, slowly.

"A vacation?" repeated Harleen, excitedly. "Can we go to Disneyland?"

"Maybe, princess," he said, laughing. "We should go tonight, though – we should get packing…"

"George…is something wrong?" asked Mrs. Quinzel, concerned. "You would tell me, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would," he replied. "Nothing's wrong, I just…feel like a little…break. I still have a couple days leave from work – we'll phone the bank from the hotel tomorrow morning and tell them we've gone outta town. It'll be fine."

Mrs. Quinzel studied him. "Harley, do you wanna eat your dinner in front of the TV tonight?" she asked, turning to smile at her daughter.

"Do I!" exclaimed Harleen, happily. "Can I watch cartoons?"

"Of course you can!" said Mrs. Quinzel, turning on the television and placing her daughter's plate on the table across from it. "Here – Bugs Bunny's on and you love him!"

"I sure do!" said Harleen happily, settling down in front of the TV.

Mrs. Quinzel returned to the dinner table. "George, if something is wrong you need to tell me," she said, softly. "I just want to help…"

"It's nothing to concern you, Gladys," he said, kissing her forehead gently. "I've taken care of it. I just think it would be a good idea to vacate the area for a little while, that's all."

"What exactly have you taken care of?" she asked. "It doesn't sound taken care of if we have to leave our home. It's something to do with that man following you, isn't it?"

He sighed heavily. "Look, these…men came into the bank today and wanted me to…do something illegal. And I went to confront them after work and refuse them point blank. But they seemed…dangerous, and if somebody's been tailing me…I just don't wanna take any risks, with Harley here…"

His wife nodded slowly. "You're right, George," she whispered. "We should start packing."

"Harley, we're going on a little trip," said Mr. Quinzel, heading over to his daughter. "Why don't you get some things ready to take with you?"

"Yay!" cried Harleen, leaping to her feet and racing to her room. "I'm gonna bring my new clown doll – he'll love to go on a trip!"

"I thought we left Brooklyn to get away from these kinds of people," whispered Mrs. Quinzel, as she headed into their bedroom and began packing a suitcase. "To have a better life…"

"Look, Gladys, I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't ask for this mess."

"I know you didn't," she whispered. "You're a good man, George. You don't deserve any of this. I don't understand why bad men have the right to ruin your life…"

"My life ain't ruined," he murmured. "It won't ever be, not with you and Harley beside me. That's worth more to me than anything else, Gladys, you know that. I love you."

"I love you too, George," she whispered. "I just wish life didn't hate us so much." There were tears in her eyes as she closed the suitcase. "I wish, just once, things could work out ok for us…"

"Hey, angel," he said, tilting her chin up so that her teary eyes gazed into his. "Everything's gonna be ok. I promise."

He kissed her tenderly. They suddenly heard a shriek from Harleen's room. "Harley!" cried Mr. Quinzel, racing to her room with his wife following him, and throwing open the door.

The boy he had seen earlier, Jack Napier, held a struggling Harleen, as three more men, one of whom was Mr. Napier, entered the room through her window. "Evening, George!" he said, smiling at him as he smoked a cigarette. "Hope you don't mind us dropping in like this!"

"Let Harley go!" demanded Mr. Quinzel, stepping forward. Mr. Napier suddenly pulled out a gun, holding the barrel of it against Harleen's head, and stopping Mr. Quinzel dead in his tracks.

"Now that I've got your attention," said Mr. Napier, grinning. "Let's just have a little talk, like civilized men."

"Don't you dare hurt her!" hissed Mr. Quinzel. Mrs. Quinzel stood behind him, body shaking as she tried not to scream in panic and terror.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that, George," said Mr. Napier, grinning. "Family man myself, remember? And I just love kids," he said, patting Harleen on the head. "Ain't she just a little angel?"

Harleen was heedless of her personal safety, kicking out at Mr. Napier. She screamed in pain as Jack tightened his grip on her arm.

"Now here's what I'm gonna do, George," said Mr. Napier, approaching him and tapping the ashes of his cigarette onto the ground. "I'm going to be leaving here presently, and I'm going to be taking little Harleen with me. Oh, she'll be well looked after, and nobody is gonna touch a golden hair on her little head, provided that you agree to my business proposition. We pull off this heist together, and I give little Harleen back to you, completely unharmed. You refuse and…well, I can't guarantee what will happen to little Harleen, but I don't think she'll like it very much."

"I'm not afraid of you!" shouted Harleen.

"Harley, baby, please, don't say anything…" whispered Mrs. Quinzel, desperately.

Mr. Napier turned to smile at Harleen. "You ain't afraid of me, sweetie?" he asked, crouching down so that he was level with her. "You really ain't?"

He removed the cigarette from his mouth and suddenly pressed the lit end against her cheek. Harleen shrieked in pain, and her parents started forward, only to be met with guns from the henchmen being pointed at them.

"You'll learn, sweetheart," whispered Mr. Napier, dangerously, as he removed the cigarette. "Bright kid like you. You'll learn quick."

He turned to face Mr. Quinzel. "So, what's it gonna be, George?" he asked, returning to puffing on his cigarette. "You gonna help me, or not?"

Mr. Quinzel was breathing heavily in fury and panic and terror, wanting to refuse him but knowing he couldn't. "I did try to be reasonable, George," murmured Mr. Napier. "You said you'd do anything to keep little Harleen safe. Well, now you're gonna have to."

Mr. Quinzel nodded slowly. "All right," he whispered. "I'll do…whatever you want. Just…don't hurt my daughter."

Mr. Napier grinned. "Don't you worry about that, George," he said, clapping Jack on the shoulder. "She's in good hands."

He dropped the cigarette to the floor and ground it under his shoe. "C'mon, boys," he said, nodding toward the door. "I'll be seeing you around, George, to discuss arrangements. Have a good evening. Ma'am," he said, tipping his hat at Mrs. Quinzel.

She was sobbing, and so was Harleen, as Jack pulled her out the door. Harleen reached out helplessly to her parents, who could only stand by and watch her being dragged away from them. "Mommy! Daddy! Help!" she cried.

"Harley, it's gonna be ok!" cried Mr. Quinzel after her. "You're gonna be fine, just...be my brave girl!"

Then the door slammed, and they were left alone. Mrs. Quinzel completely broke down, and Mr. Quinzel tried to comfort her, praying that his daughter would be safe. He dreaded to think what could happen to her in the hands of those men.


	3. Chapter 3

"All right, let's ditch the kid here and head off for some drinks," said Mr. Napier, as they returned to the run-down building he and his gang used as a hideout. "All except you, Jack," he said, as the boy shoved Harleen into a vacant room. "You're staying here."

"What?" demanded Jack, angrily.

"Kid needs a babysitter," retorted Mr. Napier, grinning. "You're the closest in age, so you'll do."

The other henchmen started laughing, which only increased Jack's fury. "Dad…" he began.

"Sir," corrected Mr. Napier, lighting another cigarette.

"Sir," repeated Jack. "Why can't we just tie the kid up and…"

"Because kids need someone to look after 'em," interrupted Mr. Napier. "Or so they tell me. You did just fine on your own after your mother…uh…tragically went missing."

He chuckled, and the henchmen echoed him. "Anyway, we promised George that his kid wouldn't be harmed," continued Mr. Napier. "Who knows what kinda trouble she could get up to on her own? So you need to stay here and watch over her, Jack. Trust me, it's for the best."

"Sir…" began Jack again.

"It's for the best," repeated Mr. Napier. He was smiling, but there was something about his tone that hinted at danger if further pressed. Jack clearly knew the warning signs of this, and merely nodded.

"Yes…sir," he growled, taking a seat against the wall.

"There's a good boy," said Mr. Napier, laughing. "C'mon, guys."

The gang's mocking laughter became distant, and gradually faded away, leaving only Harleen's terrified sobs.

"Cut it out, will ya?" growled Jack, fishing around in his pockets for a cigarette. He lit it and began smoking angrily. Harleen had stopped crying when she saw the match being lit – the recent cigarette burn was still very painful, and she knew better now than to irritate a man when he was smoking.

Jack noticed her terrified glance. "What?" he snapped. She didn't say anything, but brushed her hand against her cheek, trying to wipe away her tears without touching her burn. Jack noticed.

"Look…uh…that ain't gonna leave a mark," he muttered. "Give it time, and it goes away."

"How would you know?" snapped Harleen.

Jack snorted. "He's done that to me a million times," he retorted. "That's how he taught me to behave growing up. How he taught me not to cry, or complain, or bother him at all…"

He trailed off, puffing on the cigarette. "Why is he so mean?" whispered Harleen.

Jack snorted again. "Because he's a sick bastard," he replied.

"You shouldn't say bad words like that in front of me," said Harleen.

"You're gonna have to hear 'em sometime, kid," he retorted. "A lot, if you're gonna be hanging around here. You might as well get used to it."

"I don't wanna be here," whispered Harleen, as she clutched her knees tightly against her chest. "I wanna go home."

"Can't always get what you want, kid," retorted Jack. "Get used to disappointment."

They were silent. Harleen was scared of the boy, and of her situation, and tried to cry silently so he didn't notice.

"What's in the bag?" he asked suddenly. She looked up to see him pointing at her backpack, which she had already packed and put on when the thugs had entered her room. She had forgotten she was wearing it, and was suddenly filled with relief.

"I was packing to go on vacation," she said, taking off the backpack and unzipping it. "But I only brought some toys. Mommy and Daddy pack my clothes."

She pulled out what she had been looking for – a cuddly clown doll that her father had bought her after they had been to see the circus. She cuddled this as if for dear life, hoping it would help her fear go away.

"What's that?" asked Jack.

"My clown," whispered Harleen. "My Daddy bought him for me. He looks like the one we saw at the circus."

"Can I see?" asked Jack.

"No," snapped Harleen, clutching it close. "I don't trust you. You'll try to steal him."

"Why would I want a stupid clown doll?" retorted Jack.

"He ain't stupid!" cried Harleen. "He's my friend!"

"Just give me the goddamn…" snapped Jack, wrenching it from her hands. Harleen began wailing and holding her arms out as Jack studied the doll. It was made of cloth, and wore a purple suit which clashed with its bright, green hair. Its most prominent feature was a huge smile which took up most of its face.

"Creepy," said Jack. "Here, take it back," he snapped, shoving it back into her arms. "And stop whining, for God's sake."

"Why should I?" snapped Harleen. "I'm alone and scared, and Mommy and Daddy aren't here, and I dunno when I'll see them again…"

"At least you know you will," interrupted Jack. "More than I can say for my mother."

"Where is your mother?" asked Harleen.

Jack shrugged. "Probably at the bottom of the Gotham River."

"Is she a scuba diver?" asked Harleen.

Jack stared at her. "She's dead," he said.

Harleen stared back. "Then how could she be in the Gotham River?" she asked.

"That's probably where her body is," he explained. "That's my old man's favorite dumping ground."

"But where is _she_?" asked Harleen. "Is she in heaven? That's where Mommy says people go when they die."

Jack laughed. "No, I don't think she's in heaven," he replied, grinning. "Women who have kids when they ain't married don't usually go to heaven, I don't think."

"How can you have kids if you ain't married?" asked Harleen, puzzled. "Doncha have to have a Mommy and a Daddy? And don't they have to get married before they can have kids?"

"Look, I ain't…gonna explain this to you," said Jack, clearly uncomfortable. "You're like, what…two?"

"I'm four and a quarter," replied Harleen, matter-of-factly. "And I'm very smart for my age. Daddy says so, and he wouldn't lie. How old are you?"

"Sixteen," replied Jack.

"That's it? Just sixteen?" she asked. "Doncha have a fraction?"

"Ain't ever been that good at math, kid," retorted Jack.

"I can figure it out," said Harleen. "When's your birthday?"

"Look, just stop being a nerd, will ya?" snapped Jack, coldly. "Nothing worse than a know-it-all kid."

Harleen fell silent, tears in her eyes as she cuddled the clown. "Got a name?" muttered Jack at last.

"Sure I got a name," retorted Harleen. "Harleen Frances Quinzel."

"How am I supposed to remember all that?" asked Jack.

"My Mommy and Daddy call me Harley," said Harleen. "But you can't, because you're not my friend."

"All right, Harley," said Jack, smirking.

"Stop it!" shrieked Harleen. "You're not my friend, so you can't use that name! You're a stranger, so you can call me Harleen Frances Quinzel!"

"What kinda name is that anyway?" said Jack. "Harley…Quinn…or whatever the goddamn thing is."

"Harleen Frances Quinzel," repeated Harleen. "And I bet it's better than your name, whatever that is."

"Jack Napier," replied Jack.

"You ain't got a middle name?" asked Harleen.

Jack shook his head. "My old man wants me to make a middle name for myself, the way he has."

"What do you mean?" asked Harleen, confused.

Jack smoked in silence. "There are certain…types of people who are known by the names they make for themselves, and not the names they're given," he explained. "Like Marco 'Stamper' Falcone, or Joey 'The Hawk' Maroni. My old man's is Joseph 'Hiss' Napier. They're meant to be scary."

"Does your Daddy like snakes?" asked Harleen, confused.

Jack chuckled. "Nah uh," he said, holding up his cigarette and pressing the lit end against the palm of his hand, so it made a hissing sound. "That's kinda his trademark on his victims. That's why."

"Doesn't that hurt?" asked Harleen, staring in awe as Jack calmly drew the cigarette away, not even noticing the burn left behind on his hand.

Jack shrugged. "You get used to the pain. Like everything else."

Harleen was silent. "If your Daddy's a bad man," she said, slowly. "Does that mean you're a bad man too?"

"Guess so," agreed Jack. "Guess I kinda have to be, huh?"

"Yeah," said Harleen. "But you've been alone with me for a little while, and you haven't hurt me, so I guess you're not all bad."

Jack shrugged again. "Like Hiss said, you gotta be unharmed, or you're worthless. So my job is apparently to make sure you stay unharmed. Glorified goddamn babysitter," he muttered, putting out his cigarette angrily.

The minutes ticked by without speaking, and Jack reached for a magazine. "I'm bored," said Harleen, bluntly.

"Ain't my job to entertain you," retorted Jack, flipping a page in the magazine. "Play with your clown."

"I don't like strangers watching me play," said Harleen.

"I ain't watching you," retorted Jack, not looking up from his magazine.

"Whatcha reading?" asked Harleen, coming over to try to peer over his shoulder.

He closed the magazine hastily. "None of your goddamn business," he snapped.

"Why didn't those women have any clothes on?" asked Harleen, confused.

"Look, kid, just go play with your toy, huh?" snapped Jack, shoving her away from him. Harleen shrugged, heading over to the opposite corner.

"He's not very nice," she muttered to the clown. "But then if his Daddy's a bad man, I guess he ain't taught him any manners."

She continued to chatter away at the clown about nothing. "Don't the clown ever talk back?" asked Jack, glancing up from his magazine at last.

"Don't be stupid," retorted Harleen. "It's a doll. How's it gonna talk back?"

Jack snorted. "You ain't got no imagination, do ya, kid?" he muttered, returning his attention to the magazine.

"I got a great imagination!" snapped Harleen, angrily. "But I ain't stupid enough to think that my doll should talk back when it ain't alive! Toys can't talk, don't you know anything?"

"Maybe yours can't," retorted Jack

"And yours could?" asked Harleen.

"Maybe," he repeated, grinning.

Harleen glared at him, but he kept his eyes fixed on his magazine. "Stupid man," she muttered, picking up the clown doll again. "Thinking dolls can talk."

"I _can _talk, toots, doncha know nothing?" said a strange voice, which seemed to be coming from the clown. Harleen's eyes grew wide and she shrieked, dropping the doll in terror.

"Ouch! My aching skull!" continued the voice. Harleen could only stare at it in fear, and slowly reached to pick it up again.

"Easy, toots, I don't bite," said the voice.

"How…but…why…" gasped Harleen, studying the doll in astonishment. "You can't be real…"

"I'm as real as you, ya dumb blonde," retorted the doll.

"Don't be mean," snapped Harleen. "You're sounding just like…"

And then a thought struck her, and she whirled around to face Jack. He seemed to be engrossed by the magazine, but he was struggling not to laugh.

"It's you!" she cried, half angry and half impressed. "You can do voices! And make them sound like they're coming from over here!"

He did laugh, shutting the magazine and coming over to her. "I had a boring childhood," he said. "No friends growing up or nothing. So I made up voices for my toys, and I learned how to make it seem like the voices came outta 'em. Kinda sad when you think about it, but it's occasionally entertaining. And it's more fun playing with toys when they answer back."

He nodded at the clown. "What we gotta do with him, now that he's got a voice, is figure out a name. And a backstory. How did this little clown come to belong to you?"

"My Daddy bought him," replied Harleen.

Jack sighed. "No imagination," he muttered. "Nah, he was in a circus, but he left 'cause nobody was laughing at him anymore. But the only skill he's got is as a clown, so he set out to find someone who he could make laugh. Maybe a little girl like you. Whaddya think, dollface?" he continued, in the clown voice. "Do I make ya laugh?"

"Sure," agreed Harleen, smiling and cuddling the doll.

"And that's why he stays with ya," continued Jack. "Cause you're the only person who really gets him. Who really laughs at his jokes, and thinks he's funny. Ya got a friend for life there, toots."

Harleen smiled. "Yeah," she said, gazing at the doll tenderly. "I guess I do."

"We need a name for him," said Jack.

"How about…Clownman?" asked Harleen.

"Jesus Christ, kid, this is the name this guy's stuck with for the rest of his life!" exclaimed Jack. "At least try to be a little creative with it, huh?"

"But he _is _a Clown man!" snapped Harleen.

"Ya gotta try not to be so literal, kid," said Jack. "C'mon, we can do better than that. What's a clown do?"

"He makes people laugh," said Harleen. "His pants fall down, and he falls over…"

"Yeah…not very inspirational in terms of names," said Jack, slowly. "All right, he makes people laugh. He…uh…does pranks, tells jokes…he's a…joker. How about we call him the Joker?"

"The Joker?" repeated Harleen. "You mean he has one of those weird names he made for himself like those people you were telling me about?"

"I guess," replied Jack. "C'mon, he looks like a Joker."

"Joker," agreed Harleen, nodding. "Ok, Jack. He's the Joker."

Jack smiled. "Hey," he said, reaching for a few sheets of paper. "We should make up some stories about his adventures. What kinda tricks do ya think the Joker gets up to, huh, Harley?"

Harleen thought for a moment, and then nodded. "Ok," she said.

"Ok…what?" asked Jack, puzzled.

"Ok, you can call me Harley," she said, settling down on her stomach to play with the clown. And as they began to discuss the Joker's adventures, she even found herself, despite her situation, beginning to smile.


	4. Chapter 4

"I got good news and I got bad news for you, Jack," said Mr. Napier, a few days later, as his son entered his study. "Sit down."

Jack obeyed without a word. His father was reading a newspaper, and casually smoking his usual cigarette. Jack knew better than to interrupt him, despite the fact that he had called him in here, and the minutes ticked by in silence.

Mr. Napier put down the paper at last. "The good news is the little brat will be outta your hair soon," he said, smiling at him. "I've met with her father, and we're doing this heist tomorrow night. Which brings me to the bad news, which is that you ain't coming on it."

"What?" demanded Jack. "Why? I've proved I'm ready time and time again – give me a chance, Dad…"

"Give me a chance, _sir_," corrected Mr. Napier.

"Sir, please just listen to me!" hissed Jack, standing up. "I am ready to take part in a real heist! I'm sick of being just some heavy – I wanna be part of the action…"

"Now Jack, someone has to watch the kid," said Mr. Napier. "And think how I would feel if my only son took part in a dangerous operation like this, and got hurt, or even killed. Don't you have any regard for my feelings?"

"You can't have any for mine if you insist on holding me back from real crimes!" snapped Jack. "I'm ready now, and you can't hold me back any longer…"

Rage in Joseph Napier was swift and brutal. Before Jack knew what hit him, his father had grabbed him around the throat, slamming his face into the wall. "Now you listen to me, you little bastard!" he hissed, in a low, dangerous voice. "You will do whatever the hell I tell you to do, or I'll get rid of you the same way I got rid of your whore of a mother! You think you're such a big man now, doncha, kid, just because I give you a gun and let you hang around with the gang? But you ain't! You're just a little boy, and I can make you do whatever I wanna. Don't you ever forget that!"

He released his son's throat. "Now get the hell out," he muttered, sitting back down and returning to his paper.

Jack cupped his bleeding nose, breathing heavily in rage, as he left without another word. The moment he was outside, he punched his fist through the neighboring wall. "Son of a bitch!" he hissed. He headed outside to pace angrily and smoke through a whole packet of cigarettes before returning to the room where Harleen was being held.

He opened the door. The room appeared to be empty. "Harley?" he called. There was no response.

Jack was suddenly afraid his father had done something something horrible to her. "Harley?" he repeated, beginning to panic as he started hunting under the furniture.

He heard a giggle, and then something leapt on his back, covering his eyes with its hands. "Guess who?" said a familiar voice.

Jack let out a sigh of relief. "Hmm…who could it be?" he thought aloud, standing up and adjusting Harleen so she was riding piggyback. She kept her hands over his eyes. "Is it the Joker?"

"Nah uh," she giggled.

"Is it Harleen Frances Quinzel?"

"Nope," she said. "Close."

"Hmm…oh, I know! It's Harley Quinn, the Joker's little sidekick!" he said, smiling.

"She's his partner," corrected Harleen. "They're equals."

"Nah, she ain't as funny as he is," replied Jack, grinning.

"She is too!" snapped Harleen, dropping to the ground. "She just has a different sense of humor!"

"Yeah, like none," retorted Jack.

"Shut up," muttered Harleen. "Or I'll punch you."

"Yeah, go ahead, give me a punch, kid," he said, kneeling down. "Just like I taught ya. Make a fist, thumb on the outside, and follow through with your whole body."

Harleen nodded, making a fist and punching him in the chest. "Nah, nah, in the face, kid," he said, gesturing to his cheek. "And harder. Put some power behind it."

"I don't wanna really hurt you," said Harleen.

"Don't worry, kid, you won't," he said, grinning.

Harleen shook her head. "Nah uh," she said, folding her arms firmly across her chest. "I ain't hitting you in the face."

Jack sighed. "Ok, then," he said, beginning to stand up. "Then I guess I'll just have to…tickle you!" he cried, grabbing her.

Harleen shrieked happily. "Stop it!" she said, struggling against him. "You can't do this to Harley Quinn!"

Jack shrugged, releasing her. "Guess I can't," he agreed.

"It's ok, though," continued Harleen. "Because I ain't Harley Quinn."

"Sure you are, kid!" he exclaimed. "We made up that character just for you! Here, I'll find it for ya," he said, leafing through the small pile of stories they had written. He read aloud: "One day the Joker found that he couldn't smile. He tried and tried, but he was too sad to even grin. 'I wonder why I'm so sad,' he said to himself. But nobody answered him. And suddenly he realized why he was so sad. 'I wish I had a friend,' he said. He went for a walk in the sunshine, but that didn't make him smile. He saw the flowers in the park, and listened to the birds singing, but that didn't make him smile. He sat by the pond and cried and cried, because he was so alone. Suddenly a sweet voice said…"

He looked at Harleen. "Hello!" she supplied.

Jack continued. "Oh, hello!" he said, in the Joker's voice.

"Why are you crying?" asked Harleen.

"Because I'm all alone without a friend," he said.

"Why don't you have any friends?" asked Harleen.

"Because I'm a clown, and other people are just regular people," said Jack. "They say I'm too different to be friends with them."

"People say that about me too," said Harleen.

"And suddenly the Joker noticed that the little girl was also a clown," read Jack. "'What's your name?' he asked."

"I'm Harley Quinn," said Harleen. "I'm alone too. Nobody wants to be my friend. We can be alone together, if you want."

"'I do,' said the Joker, and as they sat alone together, they started talking and laughing, and then they realized they weren't lonely anymore, because they had a friend at last. They had each other. The End." He smiled at Harleen. "So ya see, kid, you _are _Harley Quinn," he said.

"I ain't," said Harleen, shaking her head. "I wanna be a clown when I grow up, but I ain't funny."

"You think you ain't funny?" laughed Jack. "Kid, you're plenty funny, trust me."

"I don't," retorted Harleen. "You're a bad man."

"Guess I am," agreed Jack. "So you'd better not let me catch you, or I'll tickle you again!"

Harleen shrieked and ran away from him, laughing as he chased her around the room. "Jack, stop! Stop!" she giggled, as he caught her.

"Nah uh. Not until you call me by my real name," he said, grinning.

"Stop it, Joker!" she laughed

He obeyed. "That should be your name, y'know," she said. "If your Daddy is Joseph 'Hiss' Napier, you should be Jack 'The Joker' Napier."

"Ya think that's scary enough?" asked Jack. "Not many people are scared of clowns."

"Some people are," argued Harleen. "And it all depends on what kinda sense of humor you have. If you thought really bad things were funny, then that might be kinda scary, because you'd wanna keep making bad things happen as jokes."

"Maybe," agreed Jack. "Making a name for myself is a long way off, though."

He was suddenly reminded of his earlier conversation with his father, and his smile fell. "What is it?" asked Harleen.

"Nothing, kid," he muttered, sitting down. "Nothing you need to worry about."

He forced a smile. "I got good news for ya, though," he said. "Your Daddy is gonna be helping Hiss with his scheme tomorrow night, which means soon after that, you'll be going home to your Mommy and Daddy."

"That's great news!" said Harleen, beaming. "And you'll come with me, won't you, Jack?"

Jack laughed. "No, of course not, kiddo," he said. "I'm staying here. Gotta carry on the family business, make a name for myself, y'know."

"But you'll visit, right?" asked Harleen. "I don't wanna lose you as a friend."

He smiled. "Kid, you'll never lose me as a friend," he said, picking up the clown doll and placing it in her hands. "Not me or the Joker."

"That's good," said Harleen, nodding. "Because I love you."

Jack laughed again, glancing at her. She looked back at him, completely serious. "What?" she asked, honestly. "I love you."

"C'mon, kid, you're too young to even know what love is," he retorted.

"I do know!" snapped Harleen. "I love my Mommy and my Daddy. Which means that when I'm with them, I'm happy, and when I'm not with them, I'm not. And that's how I feel about you. You're my best friend. And the only friend I've ever had. And you make me smile. So I love you."

She explained it perfectly naturally and logically, and Jack just stared back at her. "What's wrong?" she asked, becoming concerned. "Don't you love me too?"

He smiled. "Sure I do, kid," he said, ruffling her hair. "I'm crazy about you."

"Yeah?" she asked, hopefully. "When I grow up, do you wanna get married?"

"Well, I'll be a lot older than you, seeing as how I'm already grown up," explained Jack, patiently.

"So? As long as we're both grown up, it's ok to get married," retorted Harleen. "Will you wait for me to grow up before you get married?"

He smiled at her. "Sure thing, kid," he said. "Though maybe you'll change your mind by then. People do, y'know."

"I don't," retorted Harleen. She held out her hand. "Pinky promise?"

He shook her pinky. "There. If I break it, you can cut off my pinky, so I can never make another promise again."

"Ugh, I'm not doing that!" said Harleen, making a face. "That's gross!"

"Depends on your sense of humor," he retorted, grinning.

"You're gonna have to stop being so weird before we get married," said Harleen, sternly. "I don't want everyone laughing at my husband."

"Why not? I'm just a clown, remember, kid," he said, frowning again.

She suddenly hugged him tightly. "You're not," she whispered. "You're my Joker. And I love you."

She gazed up at him. "Don't that make everything better?" she asked.

He hugged her gently back. "Y'know what, kid?" he asked, smiling to himself. "It kinda does."


	5. Chapter 5

The next evening, Jack was reading Harleen a bedtime story about the Joker and Harley Quinn, and it was doing the trick, because she was curled up against him, her eyes heavy and drowsy.

"You can go to sleep if you wanna," he whispered.

"Nah," she yawned. "I wanna…hear how the story ends."

"Ok, then I'll skip to the end," he said, flipping some pages. "And they both lived happily ever after, together forever."

Harleen smiled. "I like that ending," she whispered, snuggling up against him. "Goodnight, Joker."

"Night, Harley," he whispered, stroking her hair. He continued to gaze at her as she dropped off into a solid slumber. "Gonna miss you, kid," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

"Do you know there is nothing more attractive than a guy who's good with kids?" said a voice from the doorway.

Jack looked up. "Crystal?" he said, surprised, as a pretty woman wearing glamorous clothing entered the room. "What are you doing here?"

"Your Daddy called – said he wanted me to be here," retorted Crystal. "But he ain't here, is he?"

"No, he…he's out on a bank heist," stammered Jack, gently laying Harleen down and standing up to meet her. "He should be back in a few hours…he'll probably want you then…"

"Yeah, he told me he'd be here at midnight," she said. "But I came early to see you."

"Me?" stammered Jack, stunned.

"Well, you're a handsome guy, just like your Daddy," she whispered. "Thought maybe we could get to know one another a little better. What do you think, Jack?" she asked, twirling her hair around her finger and smiling. "You wanna find out what your Daddy sees in me?"

"I think…uh…Crystal, you're my Dad's…mistress, and I don't think he'd…want me to…" stammered Jack.

"He ain't gonna know, is he, handsome?" she whispered, approaching him and laying her hands on his chest. "C'mon. I know what boys are like at your age. So many new desires racing through your body, so many strange, incredible, frustrating feelings on the road to manhood. It must be so hard, keeping all that frustration pent up inside you," she whispered, sliding her hand down to his belt. "So why doncha release it into me? C'mon, baby. Doncha wanna be a man at last?" she whispered, bringing her lips to his.

He let out a soft moan and returned the passionate kiss. Crystal grabbed his tie and began tugging him toward the door. "Crystal, I can't…I…I have to watch the kid," he whispered.

"She's asleep," she breathed. "What kinda trouble could she get up to? Not as much as we can, huh, baby?" she whispered, beginning to undo his belt.

He seized her in his arms, crushing her body against his and kissing her harshly. He slid a hand down the top of her dress and she cried out in pleasure. Harleen stirred.

"Mmm…Jack?" she whispered, opening her eyes.

Jack immediately ripped himself away from Crystal. "It's ok, kiddo, go back to sleep," he whispered, rushing over to her. Harleen gazed at him in shock.

"Why were you kissing that woman?" she whispered. "When you promised to marry me?"

Jack laughed. "I ain't gonna marry her, kid…"

"Then why were you kissing her?" she asked, sincerely. "A kiss means true love. And you marry your true love. Which means you're gonna marry her, but she ain't your true love! I am!"

"I know, sweetness," he whispered. "Look, a kiss don't mean nothing…"

"It means a lot to me," she whispered, tearfully. "Don't you love me, Jack?"

"Of course I do, kiddo," he said.

"You should go," said Harleen, sternly, glaring at Crystal. "He's mine."

Crystal laughed. "That's sweet, kid, but…"

"I think you should do what she says," whispered Jack.

Crystal stared at him. "You're serious?" she asked. "You're gonna let that little brat spoil our fun?"

"I shouldn't even be having fun with you," he retorted. "You belong to my Dad."

Crystal was glaring at him. "I don't _belong_ to any man," she hissed. "And you'd better not refuse me, Jack, unless you want me to tell your Daddy what you just tried to do to me. How when he was out, you tried to stick your hand down my dress and feel my ti…"

Jack slapped her hard. "You watch your language in front of her," he muttered, nodding at Harleen. "Now get the hell out."

She adjusted her dress and stormed out. Jack turned to face Harleen, who was still glaring at him. "Say you're sorry," she snapped.

"I ain't sorry," he growled. "I wasn't doing anything wrong."

"You don't love her!" cried Harleen. "You shouldn't have kissed her if you don't love her!"

"Christ, Harley, what the hell do you know about anything?!" he demanded. "You're four years old!"

"Fine!" she shouted. "Go after her then, if you wanna!"

"I don't!" he retorted. "I don't," he repeated, quieter. "I shouldn't, for a lotta reasons. My Dad would kill me, and I...I don't wanna hurt you."

He sat down next to her. "You're just a little tyrant, ain't ya, kiddo?" he muttered. "Never letting me have any fun."

"That wouldn't have been fun," retorted Harleen. "Being with people you don't love isn't fun."

"At least I'd have been with _someone_," muttered Jack.

"You're with me," snapped Harleen.

"I don't mean…like that," he retorted.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Just…never mind," he said. "You're too young to understand."

"You keep telling me that," replied Harleen. "It's patronizing."

Jack stared at her in confusion. "It means it makes me feel small," explained Harleen. "My Daddy and I play a game where we flip to a page in the dictionary and I point to a word and we learn it. That was one from last week."

Jack snorted. "Nerd," he muttered, but he smiled at her affectionately.

"Who…was she?" asked Harleen, nodding at the door.

"My Dad's…uh…friend," said Jack, slowly. "She's been hanging around here for a few months. Very…uh…attractive woman."

"I don't think she's so pretty," retorted Harleen, scowling.

"Well, not as pretty as you, naturally," he said, grinning at her. "Don't be jealous, my little Harley Quinn."

Harleen folded her arms across her chest. "I wish I was grown up now," she muttered. "So we could get married and you could kiss me all the time, like you kissed her."

"I'll kiss you if you wanna," he retorted. "Not like that, though. Better."

"Better how?" asked Harleen, suspiciously.

He grinned, and then kissed her nose. "Like that. Because you have such a pretty nose. Too tempting to resist."

"Yeah?" asked Harleen, hopefully. She wriggled her nose. "Again," she demanded.

He kissed her nose again, and she giggled, curling back up against him and shutting her eyes. He brushed his lips against her eyelids. "Now go back to sleep," he whispered, kissing them each in turn. "And dream of being back home with your Mommy and Daddy."

"And you, Jack," she whispered, clutching his hand tightly.

"And me," he agreed, stroking her hair with his free hand as she dozed off.


	6. Chapter 6

She awoke to the sound of loud voices coming down the hall as a door banged open. The sound also startled Jack, who had drifted off to sleep next to her. "…just pulled off a heist worth half a million dollars and instead of letting me celebrate that, you nag me the moment I get home!" came Joseph Napier's angry voice. "Goddamn women, you're all the goddamn same!"

The door to their room suddenly banged open, and Mr. Napier stood there, with Crystal behind him. "What's all this I hear about you and Crystal, boy?" he demanded.

"Nothing!" retorted Jack. "Nothing happened!"

"He wanted it to, though, Joe!" insisted Crystal. "He tried to make it happen! He kissed me…"

"But he stopped!" cried Harleen. "Cause he doesn't love you! He loves me! And I love him! And someday when I'm all grown up, we're gonna get married!"

Mr. Napier laughed scornfully. "Wow, Jack, she's quite the passionate little admirer, ain't she?" he chuckled. "Too bad she's only four. Guess you're gonna have a long wait before you can get your rocks off."

"He'll wait for me," retorted Harleen, firmly. "He promised."

"Harley, please just…shut up," hissed Jack.

Mr. Napier grinned, kneeling down next to her. "What exactly did he promise, sweetheart?"

"That he'd marry me," she retorted. "And he won't break that promise, no matter how much that woman wants him to."

Mr. Napier slowly lit a cigarette, and Harley flinched. "You saying _she_ wanted him to?" he asked, softly, holding the cigarette halfway between his mouth and Harleen's face.

"Y…yeah," stammered Harleen. "He told her she had to go, and she…she got angry and said she'd tell you that he kissed her unless he came with her. But he didn't. He loves me."

She started backward as the cigarette came closer to her eye. "Does he?" whispered Mr. Napier. "You ain't lying now, are you, kid?"

She shook her head vehemently, shying away from the cigarette. Mr. Napier slowly brought it back to his lips. "No. I can see you ain't," he whispered.

Without a word, he ripped out his gun and shot Crystal three times. Both Jack and Harleen were frozen in horror as the body fell to the ground, and Mr. Napier calmly stood up, wiping his gun. "Goddamn women," he repeated. "All the same – can't trust 'em. Hope you don't grow up to be like that, kid, but I don't think we need to worry about that. You ain't gonna grow up, after all."

He suddenly placed his gun against Harleen's temple. "And if it makes you feel better, kid, you _are _gonna be with your parents soon," he said. "I've told the boys to go over to your house tomorrow morning and bump 'em off too. Can't risk them squealing about the operation and pointing the finger at me. Too bad, really. You seem like decent people. Nothing personal, you gotta believe me."

"Dad…sir…please," stammered Jack, approaching him slowly. "Please don't…just put the gun down. I'll take her home to her parents, they'll leave Gotham forever, you'll never hear from them again, you'll be safe…"

"Oh, Jack, what's the first rule I taught you as a boy?" sighed Mr. Napier, turning to smile at him. "There's only one type of people you can really trust. Dead ones. While they're alive, they're so annoyingly unpredictable. You wanna be safe, you gotta leave no witnesses. Not even little ones."

He cocked the gun. Harleen was in a state of shock after watching Crystal being blown away. Her big, blue eyes focused on Jack, who was staring at her helplessly. She heard a shot, and her eyes shut.

And then opened, as she saw Jack Napier shoot six bullets straight into his father's head. To Harleen, the scene happened in slow motion – the blood spraying on her and Jack, the body falling slowly to the ground, and then silence, dead silence, except for their heavy, panicked breathing.

Jack stared at his father's corpse, his whole body shaking. Harleen stared at Jack. He stared back. And then he seized her in his arms, hugging her tightly, as he let out a sob. "Oh God, Harley!" he gasped.

She began sobbing uncontrollably, burying herself in his arms. Jack shushed her as the minutes ticked by. "C'mon," he whispered at last, kneeling down and wiping the tears and blood from her eyes. "Let's take you home."

…

Mrs. Quinzel opened the door to frantic knocking, and saw her daughter being carried by the man who had taken her away. Both of them were covered in blood.

"Harley!" she shrieked, seizing her daughter from Jack and clutching her tightly. Harleen began sobbing again, clinging onto her mother as if for dear life. Her mother shushed her, kissing her repeatedly.

"Harley!" gasped Mr. Quinzel, rushing to embrace his wife and child. "Oh, thank God you're safe!"

"You have to go," said Jack, urgently. "Take Harley and leave here. There are some people coming to kill you tomorrow morning."

"To…why…" stammered Mr. Quinzel.

"My…father sent them," said Jack, slowly. "To make sure you don't tell anyone about the heist. Although…I guess you can now. I guess it…doesn't matter. I…I don't know what's going to happen to the gang...but I know you gotta get outta here now."

Mr. Quinzel nodded, and hurried off to grab the essentials. Jack turned to go, but Mrs. Quinzel seized his arm. "How can I ever thank you for bringing my little girl back to me?" she whispered, tearfully.

"Oh…don't thank me, ma'am," he stammered. "Just…just look after her for me, will you? Take care of her. Make sure she feels loved. She…she is," he whispered, gazing at her.

He turned away. "No, Jack!" shrieked Harleen, holding out her arms for him. "Stay!"

"I can't, kiddo," he whispered, taking her face in his hands. "I don't belong here…"

"You belong with me," she whispered, pleadingly.

"I gotta go, Harley," whispered Jack. "If I stay, either the gang or the police will find me. I'll be a danger to you, you gotta see that. For your own safety, I can't stay."

"Jack, please!" she whispered. "Please! You can't leave me!"

"Hey, hey, hey," he whispered, stroking her cheek. "Remember what I said, right? I'll always be your friend. Me and the Joker," he murmured, reaching into his pocket and handing her back her clown doll. "We'll always be right here," he whispered, pointing at her heart.

"Please don't leave," she whispered, tears flowing down her face. "I love you."

He smiled, tilting her face up and kissing her forehead tenderly. "I love you too, kiddo," he whispered. "Now dry those tears and smile, huh? For me. What does Harley Quinn do?"

"She smiles," whispered Harleen. "She always smiles."

"That's right, Harley," he murmured. He kissed her nose again. "Goodbye, Harley Quinn," he whispered.

And without another word, he turned and left. "Jack!" screamed Harleen, desperately. "Jack, don't leave me! Please don't leave me!"

She broke down as her mother tried to comfort her. But she would never see Jack Napier again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Twenty Years Later**

"Well now, Harley, how are you feeling today?" asked Dr. Joan Leland, smiling at the young woman lying across from her on the sofa.

"Fine, Joan," Harleen Quinzel whispered. "Thank you for taking the time to see me."

"How are the nightmares?" asked Dr. Leland, flipping open her notebook. "Better?"

"They're…uh…less frequent," murmured Harleen, playing with her fingers. "And I don't…uh…scream as much. Which is good – I used to wake Ricky up all the way away in his bedroom," she said, forcing a smile.

Dr. Leland cleared her throat. "Forgive what will seem a very personal question, but he and you don't…you aren't…intimate at all?"

Harleen looked down at her hands. "He…he wants to be," she whispered. "But I…I'm just not comfortable with…" She looked back up at Dr. Leland. "It's why I wanted to have these sessions, Joan," she murmured. "Whatever it is I'm repressing has completely taken over my life. It…didn't used to be this strong, but lately these images keep coming back to me, haunting my nightmares, and sometimes even when I'm awake, little things will be big triggers, setting off memories of some trauma I don't even remember. I can't live like a normal person. The intimate touch of another human being, even a great guy like Ricky, it just…repulses me. And he's so patient and understanding, and I keep hoping I'll get over it, but…but even being touched by him just doesn't…feel right."

She buried her face in her hands. "I don't know how to explain it. It doesn't make any sense, not even to me."

Dr. Leland nodded slowly. "Harley, it's not unusual for people who have suffered some form of abuse, whether it's physical, mental, or sexual, to have difficulty living normal lives. It's also not unusual for them to repress these memories of abuse in order to cope with them. But I need you to try to remember whatever traumatic experience you had, horrible as it was. Facing it is the only way of helping you, and making it go away."

"I've tried to remember," she murmured. "I've lain awake every night trying to remember. I called my parents, but all they can tell me is that…when I was four…I was kidnapped by some…bad men. They don't know what they did to me, and I don't remember. I don't remember anything about it, or anyone, or…"

She trailed off. "I have visions of…this man," she whispered. "Always the same man…but I can't remember his name. J. Something with a J…"

"Do you remember anything else about this man, this…Mr. J?" asked Dr. Leland.

"Mr. J," repeated Harleen, quietly. She shook her head. "No, I…I don't. I'm sorry. I've tried. You don't know how hard I've tried to remember…"

"Well, try not to obsess," said Dr. Leland, gently. "The brain doesn't usually respond kindly to stress. I believe your subconscious mind is trying to tell you something, and is sending these visions to you in the hope of influencing your conscious mind. I'm sure we'll figure it out together, in time."

Harleen nodded. "You're very patient, Joan – thank you."

"Just doing my job," replied Dr. Leland. "But I have to say, I don't see any reason why any of this should have any bearing on your work. You have the makings of a good psychiatrist, Harley. I understand and respect you for wanting to see me, for admitting that you have psychological trouble, and to want to talk through some of your own mental issues, but I also think you're rational and capable enough to continue your work here at Arkham. I don't think a leave of absence is necessary, unless you do."

"No, I'd…prefer to continue working," said Harleen, gratefully. "Work is a great distraction."

Dr. Leland smiled. "Then I guess we'll be seeing you tomorrow morning, as usual," she said, standing up and shaking her hand. "In the meantime, go home and get some rest. Try to sleep. And if you have any nightmares, try to remember the details. They may help."

"Thank you, Joan," whispered Harleen.

She drove back to her apartment, lost in thought. After they had left Gotham City, the Quinzels had returned to Brooklyn, where they stayed until Harleen was old enough to go to college, where she elected to train as a psychiatrist. She had hoped that psychology classes could offer her some insight into her own troubled past, especially the blank spot of whatever had happened when she was four, which she just couldn't seem to remember. She had taken an internship at Arkham Asylum, one of the finest mental institutions in the country, and she enjoyed her work there very much. But she had felt guilty trying to judge and help people become more normal when her own life was anything but that. So she had confessed to Dr. Leland that she had some mental issues she wanted to discuss, and Dr. Leland had been very patient in helping her work through them. Dr. Leland told her they were making progress. Harleen sincerely hoped they were.

"Hey, sweetheart, how was work?" asked Ricky, her boyfriend, as she opened the door to the apartment they shared together.

"Fine," replied Harleen. "Good."

"Any interesting freaks you wanna tell me about?" asked Ricky, jokingly.

Harleen didn't smile. Ricky wasn't a cruel man, but he had a tendency to joke about her patients. Harleen wondered what he would think if he knew she was a patient herself.

"No…I…no, there weren't," she stammered, putting her bag down on the table. "Dinner ready yet?"

"In a second," he said, scooping some spaghetti onto two plates. "Hope you're hungry. And in the mood for some laughs."

"Why?" asked Harleen, puzzled.

He held up a tape. "Because for our movie tonight, I got a classic! It's a comedy about some cops who have to go undercover at a circus because they think one of the performers is a murderer. It's hysterical."

"Sounds like it," agreed Harleen, smiling. "My Dad took me to the circus when I was little. I loved it."

"Really? I think I just got an idea for your birthday present, then," he said, grinning and kissing her. "C'mon, I'll set it up."

Harleen snuggled against him as they watched the movie, trying to enjoy herself. Her smile fell suddenly when a clown appeared on the screen. Clown. Something about a clown…or a joke…blood everywhere…

She cried out suddenly, dropping her plate on the floor. "Harley? What is it? Are you ok?" asked Ricky, concerned.

"I…I can't…" stammered Harleen, her eyes fixed in horror on the clown. "I can't…I need to be alone," she gasped, standing up and racing from the room.

She slammed the door to her bedroom, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to think, trying to remember. "Clown," she repeated. "Clown…there's a name…there's a clown name…and blood…so much blood…"

A knock came on her door. "Harley? Are you sure you're ok?"

"I'm fine, Ricky," she called back. "I'm fine," she repeated, sitting down on the bed. "I just wish I could remember…"

She opened her eyes suddenly. "Harley Quinn," she whispered. "Harley Quinn. That name means…something. It's almost…my name."

Ricky opened the door suddenly. "You all right?" he whispered, in genuine concern.

"I don't know why I keep having these visions, Ricky," she whispered. "I don't know why I can't remember whatever it is that keeps haunting me. I just want it to go away."

He sat down next to her, taking her in his arms and kissing her gently. "Can I do anything?" he asked.

"No," she whispered. "No, just…just hold me."

"Was it the clown?" he asked. "Are you afraid of clowns?"

"I…I don't think so," whispered Harleen. She shut her eyes again. "But there's _something_ about a clown…Harley Quinn…"

"Who's that?" he asked.

"I…I think she's…me," stammered Harleen. "I think someone called me that once. Mr. J."

"Who's Mr. J?" he asked.

"I don't know," she murmured. "I don't know."


	8. Chapter 8

Harleen awoke the next morning in Ricky's arms. She had fallen asleep shortly after her shock, and carefully tried to climb out of bed without waking him. It didn't work.

"Good morning, beautiful," he said, kissing her.

"Morning," whispered Harleen.

"You look so gorgeous," he whispered, continuing to kiss her.

"Thank you," she murmured, trying to pull away from him. He held her.

"Harley, you think we could try…" he began.

"I…I don't think it'll work, Ricky," she whispered, interrupting him.

"It can't hurt to try, can it?" he asked.

She shook her head slowly, and began returning his kisses. But it felt…wrong somehow. The feel of his hands on her body felt wrong, felt like _he _didn't belong there. But someone else did? Was that what these feelings were trying to tell her? Maybe she was a lesbian, maybe it was men in general who repulsed her, but…no. No, she had never been attracted to a woman in that way. Ricky was a nice, sincere guy, not some sleazy womanizer – he shouldn't repulse her…he was a good man. Not a bad man…not a kidnapper…not a criminal…not like…

An image of that same man, Mr. J, suddenly flashed in front of her face, just as Ricky touched her. She cried out in pleasure, and before she could control herself, a name escaped her lips. "Jack!" she cried.

Ricky immediately stopped kissing and caressing her. He sat up. "Who's Jack?" he demanded.

"I…I dunno," whispered Harleen, shocked. "I don't know anyone called Jack…"

It hit her suddenly. "Jack," she whispered. "Mr. J. He's the guy, Ricky, the one I keep seeing…Jack…something."

"You were thinking about him when I was touching you?" Ricky asked, angrily.

"I didn't mean to…I…I can't help what I think about, or feel…" stammered Harleen.

Ricky was silent, staring angrily ahead. "Do you think this Jack…sexually abused you?" he asked, quietly.

"No!" cried Harleen. "No, I don't think anything like that happened! Jack wouldn't…"

"So you do remember him," he interrupted.

"I remember…he wasn't a bad man," she whispered. "That's all."

He glared at her. "Did you wish it was him touching you?" he asked.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ricky," she snapped. "I don't even know who he is."

She stood up, heading for the bathroom. "I told you this was a bad idea," she muttered. "You never listen to me."

"Harley, I'm trying to support you and help you through whatever it is that's wrong!" exclaimed Ricky. "But you can't blame me for being a little upset when you shout out the name of another guy…"

"You shouldn't be jealous of a guy I don't even remember!" shouted Harleen. "Who's probably dead now anyway!"

She slammed the door, and waited until Ricky left for work before coming out again. Then she dressed hurriedly and drove off to Arkham, trying to calm down and think rationally. She was a psychiatrist, after all. It shouldn't be that difficult.

"Got a new patient today, Harley," said Dr. Leland, meeting her at the entrance. "He's being brought in by police escort after being arrested last night, supposedly by that Batman guy."

Harleen snorted. "What I wouldn't give to analyze him," she muttered.

"Maybe one day you can," replied Dr. Leland, nodding. "Maybe when he's had enough of playing the hero, he'll turn himself in for some psychiatric counseling. I'm sure he needs it."

"What do you know about the new patient?" asked Harleen.

"Not much," replied Dr. Leland, flipping through a file. "He's got no recorded name, and no fingerprints we can identify – they were apparently burned off in some accident which has left him horribly disfigured. Any research into his background is turning up a blank. He just calls himself the Joker."

The name hit Harleen like a bolt of lightning. She could only stare at Dr. Leland. "W…what?" she stammered.

"The Joker. Oh, that'll be him," said Dr. Leland, nodding at the armored vehicle entering the gates of Arkham.

"Joan, I…I know that name!" gasped Harleen. "That name…the Joker…it's got something to do with whatever it is I've repressed!"

"Are you sure?" asked Dr. Leland, concerned.

"I'm positive. The Joker…and Harley Quinn," she whispered. "They lived…happily ever after. Together forever."

Dr. Leland stared at her. "Harley, maybe it would be a good idea to let me handle this…" she said, slowly. "If this man is connected to that incident in some way, you probably shouldn't submit yourself to the shock of seeing him…"

"I thought you said I have to face that trauma, Joan," murmured Harleen. "I'm sure I'll be fine. It's probably…nothing. Silliness, y'know. Just a coincidence that this guy has a name I remember."

Dr. Leland nodded slowly, turning her attention back to the armored car. Policemen leapt out of it, opening the back door and pulling a man out, battered and handcuffed. Harleen could only stare at him in shock.

The man wore a purple suit, which contrasted sharply with his bright, green hair. His face was bone white, with two deep, green eyes, and a huge smile - shining white teeth framed by bright, red lips. She had never seen such a man before and yet…and yet…something about the image…and the face…she knew that face.

"Mr. J," she whispered.

He turned at her voice, and for a moment his smile fell in shock. His green eyes clouded in confusion – he seemed to vaguely recognize her, as she vaguely recognized him, but it was clear he couldn't remember how or why or where he had seen her before.

Then his grin returned, and he winked at her. "Hiya, toots," he said, in a voice she knew, although she couldn't remember how or why she knew it. "I'm the Joker."

"Harley…Quinn," she stammered, before she could stop herself.

He stared at her. "H…Harley Quinzel," she corrected, hastily. "Dr. Harley Quinzel."

"Harley Quinzel," he repeated, grinning. "Well, that's a name that puts a smile on my face."

"I'm Dr. Joan Leland, Mr. Joker, I'll be handling your sessions," said Dr. Leland, stepping forward. "Why don't you follow me to your cell?"

"Sure thing, Doc!" chuckled Joker. "Lead the way!"

Harleen followed them down the hall into the cell block, where the Joker was safely deposited. "We'll do a full psychiatric evaluation in about an hour, Mr. Joker, so you've had time to settle in," said Dr. Leland.

"We?" repeated Joker.

"You and me," replied Dr. Leland.

He sighed. "Pity," he said, glancing up at Harleen. "I was so hoping Dr. Quinzel could join us."

"Dr. Quinzel has other patients," said Dr. Leland. "Which she should probably attend to."

"Uh…yes…right," stammered Harleen. She had been unable to tear her eyes away from the Joker, but she managed it at last. "I'd better…uh…go."

"See you later, Harleen Frances Quinzel," he murmured.

She whirled around, stunned. "What?" she gasped.

"It's on your notepad," he said, nodding at the book in her hands. "Something about that name, though - Harley Quinn...zel." He grinned again. "It puts a smile on my face. It really does."


	9. Chapter 9

"I don't know who he is," said Harleen, firmly. "I don't. But he just seems so familiar…"

"Do you think it would help to sit in on our sessions at all?" asked Dr. Leland. "I haven't got anywhere with him, I'll be honest - he doesn't seem to remember anything about his past, or says he doesn't. But maybe it would help you to hear him talk."

Harleen was silent. "He asks about you," continued Dr. Leland. "Maybe you have some kind of influence over him. Maybe he remembers you somehow, just as you remember him."

"What if he's lying, Joan?" Harleen murmured. "What if this is all some kind of act? Maybe if he was involved with whatever happened to me, he tried to hurt me. Maybe he wants to finish the job. Maybe I saw him do something…bad, and he wants to make sure there are no witnesses left alive."

"Do you associate the name of the Joker with bad feelings?" asked Dr. Leland.

"No," whispered Harleen. "But I can't be too careful. He is a criminal, after all."

"I'll supervise your meeting, if you want," said Dr. Leland. "The guards can be called immediately at any time if you feel the slightest danger from him."

Harleen nodded. "And…what if I do remember, talking to him?" she asked, quietly. "And what if it's something bad? I'm afraid of that, Joan. I'm afraid I won't be able to cope with the pain…"

"Harley, I am here to help you with that," murmured Dr. Leland, laying a hand on her arm. "You can't live your life in fear. Can you?"

Harleen shook her head slowly. "Ok," she whispered, standing up. "Let's get this over with."

Dr. Leland entered the interview room with Harleen following. The Joker was already there. He looked up at her and grinned, and Harleen was struck by how familiar his smile was.

"Harley Quinzel," he murmured, beaming. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Mr. Joker," said Harleen nervously, taking a seat next to Dr. Leland. "How are you feeling today?"

"Like a clown who's just heard a new favorite joke," replied Joker, smiling.

"That's good to hear," said Dr. Leland. "Harley's going to be joining us this session, if you don't mind."

"Mind?" repeated Joker, grinning. "Why do you think I'm so happy?"

"Is Harley familiar at all to you, Mr. Joker?" asked Dr. Leland.

"Should she be?" he asked, studying her.

"You tell me," said Dr. Leland.

Joker smiled, settling back. "Let's just say I don't believe in coincidences, Doc. And a guy called the Joker meeting a doctor called Harley Quinn? Pretty strange coincidence, ain't it?"

"Why _do _you call yourself the Joker?" asked Dr. Leland. "Your accident, as I understand, completely transformed your appearance, and erased your memory. But you must remember why you decided on this particular name after your accident."

Joker shrugged. "I looked like the Joker," he replied. "Again, strange coincidence."

"And who is the Joker?" asked Dr. Leland.

He stared at her. "Don't you know?" he asked, surprised.

She shook her head. "Harley, do you?" asked the Joker, turning to her.

"The…name is familiar," she stammered. "But I don't know why."

Joker grinned. "Neither do I," he said. "I had a lotta random, nonsensical words and images going through my head after the accident – things that obviously meant something once, but don't now. And one that kept haunting me was the Joker. So I assumed that's who I was. The other name was Harley Quinn."

He smiled at Harleen. "So you can see why I was so taken with the Doc here," he said. "All kindsa strange coincidences going on, doncha think?"

"But you don't think you've met Harley before?" asked Dr. Leland.

"I think I would have remembered, accident or no accident," he replied, grinning at her. "She's a total knockout, ain't she?"

Harleen stared at him, shocked to find herself blushing at the compliment.

"I'd like to try a quick experiment, if I may," said Dr. Leland. "A few word associations. And I'd also like Harley to participate in these. Perhaps we can isolate the circumstances of your supposed previous meeting if we can find some images in common. Harley, why don't you join the patient on the sofa for now?"

"O…K," said Harleen, slowly, heading over to sit next to the Joker.

"I'll try to keep my hands to myself, Doc, but I can't make any promises," chuckled Joker.

"All right, I'm going to say a word, and you both say the first thing that pops into your head," explained Dr. Leland. "Clown."

"Joker," they both said. He grinned.

"I'm real flattered, toots," he said. "Got me on the brain, huh?"

"You're sitting next to me," she retorted.

"Smile," continued Dr. Leland.

"Harley Quinn," they both said, instantly. Joker grinned at Harleen.

"Jinx!" he chuckled. "You owe me a soda!"

Harleen ignored him. "Blood," continued Dr. Leland.

"Jack," murmured Harleen.

"Freedom," said Joker.

"Gun."

"Crystal," said Harleen.

"Hiss," said Joker.

"Child."

"Happiness," they both said.

"Death."

"Love," they both said. They stared at each other in surprise.

"Last one. Love."

"J…Joker," stammered Harleen, before she could think about what she was saying.

"Harley Quinn," he whispered, smiling.

"Strange that you both associate the word child with happiness," said Dr. Leland, studying the paper. "And death with love. And love with the Joker and Harley Quinn. I'm also particularly interested in the association of gun with hiss and crystal, respectively. Crystal could indicate some form of armed robbery, which maybe you were involved in, Harley. But a hiss sounds like a snake or something…"

"A burn," said Harleen, firmly. "It's a burn. A cigarette burn. I…remember that now, the hiss of the cigarette against my skin…" She trailed off, touching her cheek gently.

"Do you associate it with Jack?" asked Dr. Leland.

"No…no, Jack wouldn't hurt me," she murmured, gazing at the Joker.

"Jack," he repeated, thoughtfully.

"Is the name familiar to you, Mr. Joker?" asked Dr. Leland.

"Sorta," he agreed. "Maybe I knew him once."

"Harley almost certainly did," agreed Dr. Leland. "She has very strong associations with that name. Pleasant associations, aren't they, Harley?"

"Uh…yeah, for the most part," she agreed. "Though I meant to tell you, Joan…" She looked at Joker, paused, and then continued. "I…I shouted out Jack's name recently when Ricky…when Ricky and I…tried to get intimate."

"Oh," said Dr. Leland, surprised. "Oh, I see."

"And before you ask, no, I don't think Jack sexually abused me," Harleen continued hastily. "He…he wouldn't have done something like that. I just think it means…I was in love with him. I think…part of the problem with my relationship is that…I'm still in love with him. And it bothers me that Ricky's not Jack. But I don't know who Jack is."

Joker whistled. "And I thought _I _had problems!" he laughed. "In love with a guy you don't even know! Mind you, I don't know who Batman is, but the sparks were definitely flying between us," he sighed, grinning.

"Are you saying you're in love with Batman?" asked Dr. Leland.

"Well, he's a special guy," agreed Joker. "But honestly, I'm into dames. I especially like blondes," he said, glancing at Harleen.

"I…guess that's good to know," said Dr. Leland, slowly. "But as you've heard, Harley has a boyfriend. And she would never be so unprofessional as to become romantically involved with a patient. Would you, Harley?"

Harleen wasn't listening. She had been staring in captivation at the Joker. Something about him was so familiar and safe and comforting and happy…

"Harley?" repeated Dr. Leland.

"Sorry…what's that, Joan?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from the Joker.

"Never mind," said Dr. Leland, although she studied Harleen with a slight look of concern. "It's nothing."

She cleared her throat. "Thank you, Mr. Joker – the guards will escort you back to your cell now."

"I'll go with him," said Harleen, standing up.

"Oh…ok," said Dr. Leland, surprised. "It's not necessary…"

"I want to," said Harleen. "I just wanna…talk to him."

Dr. Leland nodded slowly, and called for the guards. Harleen followed them back to the Joker's cell.

"You can leave us," she said to them.

"You're not afraid of being alone with me?" asked Joker, smiling as the guards left. "Everyone else is."

"No, I…I'm not afraid of you," stammered Harleen. "I can't…begin to describe how familiar you are to me. You…you mean very pleasant things to me. The Joker…was something positive in my childhood, I'm sure of it. And it makes me very happy to be around you."

He chuckled. "That's what I live for, toots!" he exclaimed. "To spread smiles and joy and laughter!"

Harleen was silent. "Do you really not…remember anything before your accident?" she asked.

"Nothing that means anything to me," he said, shrugging.

"You're sure?" she asked. "You're not lying?"

He grinned. "Do I look like the kinda guy who ain't serious, toots?" he chuckled.

"It's just…very important to me…if you can remember," she said.

"Why?" he asked.

She stared at him. "I…I think you might be my…Mr. J. You're not him exactly – you're different, but you're…so very similar."

He smiled. "Well, I'm very happy being your Mr. J, Harley," he murmured. "Why would I ever wanna be anyone else?"

"Will you promise me you'll try to remember?" she asked. "You don't know how important it is to me."

"For you, toots, anything," he said.

Harleen nodded and turned to go. "There was a doll," he said, suddenly. "A doll that looked like I do now. That's where I got the name. That's who the Joker is."

"A doll?" she repeated, surprised.

"Yeah. A clown doll," he said. "I don't remember anything else about it except for how it looked. And its name. The Joker."

Harleen nodded slowly. "Thank you very much, Mr. Joker," she said, walking off. "I'll see you soon."

"I'm looking forward to it," he murmured, gazing after her and smiling.


	10. Chapter 10

"Harley, it's so good to have you home again!" exclaimed Mrs. Quinzel, hugging her daughter tightly as she entered her parents' apartment. "We miss you so much when you're away in Gotham!"

"I'd love to come home more often, Mom, but work keeps me pretty busy," said Harleen, returning the hug.

"But you enjoy the work?" asked her father, coming over to hug her too. "That's the important thing."

"I really do, Dad," agreed Harleen. "And it's been very helpful in helping me deal with some of my own issues. I'm seeing Dr. Leland about…the incident."

"Oh," said Mr. Quinzel. They didn't ever mention the incident between themselves. "Well…good. If it helps."

"I don't see what good can come from remembering that," said Mrs. Quinzel, shuddering slightly.

"I_ do_ remember it, Mom, but not clearly," said Harleen. "Not in a way that I can make sense of. And it's still affecting my life. I have to take control of it, and trying to remember it is the only way I can do that."

Mr. Quinzel sighed. "I'm sure you know what you're doing," he said. "But I've spent my whole life since it happened trying to forget the whole terrible affair."

Harleen cleared her throat. "In that…uh…vein…does the name the Joker mean anything to you both?"

Her parents shared a look. "It was the name of your clown doll," said Mrs. Quinzel. "I still have it somewhere, I'm sure."

"Can I see it?" asked Harleen. "It might help."

Her mother nodded. "I'll go look for it," she said, entering Harleen's old room and rifling through the closet. "How's Ricky?" she asked as she searched.

"Oh, he's…uh…fine," stammered Harleen. "We're fine."

"He's such a nice young man," said Mrs. Quinzel. "It's obvious he loves you a lot."

"Yeah, I'm a…lucky gal," said Harleen. "He wanted to come with me to visit, of course, but he…had to work."

The truth was Harleen hadn't invited him, but she didn't want to tell her parents that. They were happy she had someone to look after her in Gotham. But Harleen wanted any revelations about the incident to be experienced by her alone. It wasn't anyone else's business, especially not Ricky's. If her suspicions were correct, and she had been in love with Jack, she doubted Ricky would want to hear about it.

"Here he is!" said Mrs. Quinzel triumphantly, holding up the clown doll. She handed it to Harleen.

The sight of it and the feel of it sent a million different, conflicting feelings and images rushing through her. The doll looked just like the Joker, down to the huge smile. And she began to remember how she had played with the doll, how she had made up stories about him and Harley Quinn. How she had done that with…someone else.

"Mom…does the name Harley Quinn mean anything to you?" asked Harleen, quietly.

Her mother nodded slowly. "When you were…returned to us, after your kidnapping…the boy who brought you back…he gave you back the doll and told you to smile because…Harley Quinn always smiled. I guess it was some sort of pretend game you played."

"And the boy, what was his name?" asked Harleen.

"It was Jack," said Mrs. Quinzel. "Jack Napier. He was the son of the guy who kidnapped you, 'Hiss' Napier. That wasn't his real name, but he…Harley, what is it?" she asked, shocked, as Harleen started back as if she'd been hit.

"Jack…Napier?" she whispered.

"Yes. You were very attached to the boy – you didn't stop crying for weeks after he left. He…saved our lives, and I don't doubt he saved yours too. Remarkable young man."

"Oh…my God," she whispered. The name clicked. Jack Napier was her Jack, her Mr. J. And Jack Napier was also…the Joker.

"Mom, I…I think he's in Arkham," she whispered. She stared at the doll. "I think he's the Joker."

Harleen clutched the doll tightly as she explained to her parents about the new patient, and how familiar he was to her.

"The poor man," whispered Mrs. Quinzel. "What a terrible accident. And a terrible thing to have to happen to that nice boy."

"It's a shame that he had to turn into a criminal like his father," agreed Mr. Quinzel. "But I guess it was fairly inevitable."

"I don't think…he's a bad man, though," whispered Harleen. "I don't remember Jack Napier very well, but I do know he wasn't a bad man."

"Didn't Batman arrest him for murder…" began Mr. Quinzel.

"Batman is not qualified to arrest anyone," interrupted Harleen, angrily. "The man's a bullying vigilante, nothing more. The police should have done their job for once, and arrested Batman along with the Joker. I guarantee the streets would be safer."

Mr. Quinzel was silent. "Harley, I understand you're inclined to think kindly of…this man because of your history together. But people change…"

"Yes, physically he's changed very much," agreed Harleen. "But if he _is _Jack…Jack could never change into a bad man. It's just not possible."

"I just think you need to be careful before you trust a dangerous man too much," said Mr. Quinzel.

"Jack…wouldn't hurt me," said Harleen, quietly. "I trust Jack."

"You don't even know for sure he _is _Jack," said Mr. Quinzel, gently. "He doesn't remember."

"I'll help him remember," she said. "I have to try."

"What does Ricky say about all this?" asked Mrs. Quinzel.

"I…haven't told him everything," said Harleen, slowly. "I don't remember everything. But I have to believe I can help the Joker remember who he is. I have to believe I can turn him back into Jack Napier. I have to try."

"Why?" asked Mr. Quinzel.

"I…just think it's right," she stammered. She couldn't admit the truth to her parents. She couldn't really admit it to herself. But she was in love with him.

…

"There's Harleen Frances Quinzel!" exclaimed the Joker, beaming at Harleen as she approached his cell. "Missed seeing you around, kid."

"I…uh…went home to see my parents," said Harleen. "And I found something there that you might wanna see."

She handed him the clown doll. A look of recognition and pain suddenly passed over his face. Then he smiled. "That's him," he murmured, beaming at it. "That's the Joker."

"My parents said…I'm Harley Quinn," she murmured. "They said a man named Jack Napier called me that. Is that name at all familiar to you?"

"Jack Napier," he repeated. "Yeah, I think I knew him."

"I think…you _are _him," she whispered.

He stared at her. "He…he saved my life," she murmured. "I don't remember how exactly, but he did. I'd like to return the favor by…trying to save yours. Trying to help you remember who you used to be…"

Joker laughed. "Doesn't really matter, though, does it?" he chuckled. "I'm the Joker now. I mean, look at me, toots. You think I could ever live a normal life after this?"

"Maybe if…you had help…it wouldn't matter how you looked," murmured Harleen. "Maybe if someone…loved you for who you were…you wouldn't care what anyone else thought about you."

"Well, a guy can dream," he laughed. "But dreams don't tend to come true, do they, toots?"

Harleen didn't respond. "Though I gotta say," he continued. "If someone told me a gorgeous doctor would care enough to try to help me get better, I'd have said they were dreaming."

Harleen blushed, and turned to go. "Do you believe in fate, toots?" he asked, suddenly.

"I…didn't used to," she said. "Now I'm…not so sure."

"Crazy kinda thing to believe in," he said. "But then I guess so is a guy who dresses up as a flying rodent every night to go fight crime. It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world, Harley Quinn. Time to admit it, doncha think?"

Harleen said nothing.


	11. Chapter 11

"I think it's great that you're taking such an interest in the Joker," said Dr. Leland. "He needs a lotta work, I'm not gonna lie, and two heads are better than one. Only I'm worried that…he might be playing you for a fool."

Harleen stared at her. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"He's a…clever, ruthless man now, whatever he used to be," said Dr. Leland. "You're very patient and sympathetic with him, which is good, but I'm afraid he might be trying to take advantage of your feelings for this Jack. Of course, it's entirely possible that's who he used to be. But you mustn't let that blind you to who he is."

"And who is he?" asked Harleen.

"He's the Joker," she said. "A very ruthless, clever, dangerous man. And not a very sincere man, as the name suggests. I honestly can't tell the difference between when he's telling the truth or when he's lying. Maybe he can't either. But either way, it's not a good idea to trust him too much."

"I…think we have to trust all of our patients to an extent," said Harleen. "Otherwise how can we help them?"

"I'm not sure we can help the Joker," said Dr. Leland, gently. "We can be compassionate, of course, but I don't see rehabilitation as a possibility for him."

"But…but we can't just give up on him, Joan," said Harleen, surprised. "We can't just keep him here forever, trapped by his appearance and his memories, or his lack of memories…we have to help him…"

"Harley, I understand that this is a very personal cause for you," said Dr. Leland. "I believe you think if the Joker suddenly remembers everything, he can tell you everything about your past incident, and the bad memories will go away, and you can live a normal life. But I'm sure we can get to the root of your repression without his help…"

"I'm not that selfish, Joan," interrupted Harleen. "I'm doing this for him, can't you understand that? I want to help him, I'm…interested in him."

Dr. Leland studied her. "What if one day he tells you he is Jack Napier?" she murmured. "How could you know he was telling the truth instead of just telling you what you want to hear? And what would it matter if he was, in the end? Jack Napier is gone. He doesn't know who that man is. And neither do you."

"I do know Jack Napier," murmured Harleen. "I know him better than I know myself. He's in here," she whispered, pointing to her heart. "He's been here for a very long time. And if he's suddenly come back into my life as a real person, a person who's become a part of my very identity and heart and soul…you think that doesn't matter?"

"Harley, all I'm asking is that you be careful," said Dr. Leland. "Don't become too attached to such a duplicitous liar. He'll say anything as long as he thinks it's funny. Don't trust him."

Harleen nodded. "Look, Joan, do you mind if we…don't talk today?" she asked quietly. "I'm just not feeling very good – headache, y'know."

"Do you need to go home?" asked Dr. Leland, concerned.

"No, I think I'll just…go for a walk," said Harleen, standing up. "Uh…we'll reschedule, huh?"

"Sure, Harley, whatever you want," said Dr. Leland.

Harleen nodded and headed out of Dr. Leland's office. She started toward the front door of the asylum, and then turned back and headed toward the cell block.

"Oh…morning, Doc!" said the Joker, as she approached his cell. "Wasn't expecting you! Thought I had exercise time next…what…uh…brings you here?"

"I just wanted to see you," said Harleen, studying him.

"Well, I'm happy to be looked at!" he chuckled. "But maybe you should come back later if you wanna talk…the guards are gonna be here any moment to take me off to the exercise yard…"

He seemed nervous, thought Harleen, but maybe it was an act. Maybe it all was.

"Who are you?" she whispered. "Really?"

"I told you, toots, I'm the Joker," he replied, grinning.

"Don't…screw with me!" she shouted, suddenly angry. "It's not funny! Tell me the truth! Tell me who you are!"

He was surprised at her fury, but quickly relaxed into his easy smile again. He suddenly reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her close so that she slammed against the bars. "I would like nothing better than to screw with you, toots," he murmured, reaching out a hand to touch her cheek.

Harleen's heart was racing at his touch, at the nearness of him, at the closeness of his grinning face to her own. "Let…let go of me," she stammered.

"Look, Doc, I didn't want it to be you, trust me," he murmured. "But maybe it's for the best. You'll help me out, won't you, Doc? You'll do that for me."

"What…" began Harleen, but suddenly he had flicked out a knife, and held the blade against her throat.

"Call the guards," he muttered.

Harleen stared at him in shock, in pain, in fury. This man was threatening her. This man who she had only wanted to help, who she assured herself could never hurt her, now had a blade held against her throat, so that the steel pricked her skin. The thought of how he had got ahold of a weapon in here didn't even occur to her. Only a sense of betrayal overwhelmed her…

He pressed the knife in harder. "Call the guards," he repeated. His bright, green eyes were hard and merciless, without a hint of compassion. She felt tears rise to her own, but obeyed him.

The guards came over to them. "Turn around," growled Joker. She did so, and the Joker grabbed her arms to restrain her, pressing the knife to her throat again.

"All right, here's how this works," he said, grinning at the guards. "You boys let me outta here, and I don't cut the Doc a new breathing hole, ok?"

"Erikson, order backup on…" began one of the guards, hastily, but Harleen screamed suddenly as the blade pressed harder into her throat, cutting her slightly.

"No, no, no, none of that," said the Joker, still smiling. "Just let me out. Now."

The guards had no choice. They unlocked the cell door. "Now if I hear one hint of an alarm, the Doc here is going to suffer a terrible accident, get me?" said Joker, heading toward the door to the cell block dragging Harleen with him. "And it would be such a shame to be responsible for the death of someone so young and pretty, wouldn't it? So just get me outta here."

Harleen gazed helplessly at the guards as they unlocked the cell block door. "What are you…" began Dr. Leland, as the Joker strode into the lobby, but then she saw Harleen and the knife. "Oh…my God," she gasped.

"That's right, everyone, just stay right where you are," laughed Joker. "No heroics. Leave that for Batman, whenever he gets here. Too bad I'll be long gone by then, but be sure to give him my love. _Hasta luego_, losers!"

Harleen expected to be either released or killed the moment they had left the asylum, but instead Joker asked, "Which one is your car?"

Harleen nodded at it, and Joker dragged her over to it. "In," he said, nodding at the driver's seat.

She slowly unlocked the car and sat down as the Joker got into the passenger seat. "Drive," he said, pressing the point of the knife lightly against her torso.

"Drive where?" she asked.

"Just drive," he said. "I'll tell you where to go."

Harleen obeyed, trying to remain calm and ignore the blade pressing into her side. Joker laughed suddenly. "This must seem kinda routine to you now, huh, sweets?" he chuckled. "The whole kidnapping thing."

Tears came to Harleen's eyes again. She should never have shared her past with him. Dr. Leland was right – he couldn't be trusted. And now she was going to pay for trusting such a monster. Possibly with her life.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked, trying to remain calm.

"Wouldn't wanna spoil the surprise, toots," he replied, grinning. "Just wait and see."

Harleen kept her eyes fixed on the road as they drove onto Gotham Bridge. She suddenly heard the sound of sirens behind her, and glanced in the rearview mirror to see several police cars gaining on them.

Joker swore loudly. "Switch lanes," he demanded.

"That's…oncoming traffic…" began Harleen.

"Just do it!" he shouted, pressing the knife in harder. Harleen had no choice, heading into the other lane. Cars began swerving to avoid her, crashing into one another and forming a barrier, cutting off the road for the police cars.

"Ok, now back in the regular lane," said Joker, when he thought the blockade was big enough. Harleen was about to obey him, when a car suddenly appeared from head on. She swerved to avoid it, but it crashed against the side of the car, sending it spinning out of control and crashing through the railings. Harleen saw them plunging off Gotham Bridge, saw the Gotham River coming up fast, and as they hit the water, her head slammed against the side of the car. The second before she lost consciousness, she seemed to realize she was never going to wake up again. Then she blacked out.


	12. Chapter 12

She awoke, coughing and sputtering, to see a dark shape bent over her. It drew its mouth away from hers as she drank in deep, shuddering gulps of air. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that she was soaking wet, and lying on a riverbank. And above her, also dripping wet, was a man she knew…Jack…Mr. J…the Joker.

He wasn't smiling now. His face was utterly serious as he studied her curiously with his bright, green eyes. He almost looked confused, but when he noticed she was looking back at him, his normal grin resumed.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, Doc!" he chuckled. "Can you walk?"

"I…I dunno," stammered Harleen, trying to sit up. A low, throbbing pain suddenly shot through her skull, and she moaned, holding up a hand to her forehead. She drew her fingers away to see blood on them.

"Nasty bump," he said, standing up and holding out his hand to her. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. She felt suddenly dizzy, and collapsed. He caught her, and she felt his strong, thin arms holding her tightly. They felt so safe and familiar…

"Can't walk, huh?" he sighed. Then he lifted her up, carrying her like a child away from the riverbank. Harleen was still trying to process what had happened, but it was difficult to think when she was being held like this, leaning against his chest so that she heard every beat of his heart…

She began shivering. "Cold?" he asked. She nodded. "Just hang on a second – we're gonna be someplace warm soon."

"We hit the river…" murmured Harleen.

He laughed. "Sure felt to me like the river hit us!" he chuckled. "Like a punch to the face! Women drivers, I tell ya – useless!"

She stared up at him in confusion. "You saved me."

"Guess so," he agreed.

"Why?" she asked. "Why didn't you let me die?"

He sighed heavily. "Y'know, toots, I just busted outta the nuthouse, so the last thing I want is a lotta questions, ok? Can't you shrinks just stop interrogating people for one minute?"

Harleen nodded and was silent, clinging onto him. They reached the road, and a second later, a pair of headlights appeared in the darkness as a car pulled up next to them.

"Here, Roc, give me your coat," said Joker, as a man climbed out of the car. He was surprised, but obeyed, and Joker draped it over Harleen as he gently lay her down in the backseat.

"Uh…boss…I thought the plan was no witnesses…" began Rocco.

"Plans change," retorted Joker, as he climbed into the passenger seat. "Just get us back to the hideout."

"Yes, sir," said Rocco, starting up the car again. Harleen began to feel drowsy under the rumbling motion and the hum of the engine, and she felt herself falling asleep. She was shaken violently awake a second later.

"You stay with me, ok, kid?" whispered a voice she knew.

She nodded and murmured, "Ok, Jack."

Time was a blur after that. She felt herself being moved, maybe into a bed, but her delirious state between waking and dreaming made time and space difficult to discern. "Jack!" she called, opening her eyes hours, days, or weeks later.

Someone squeezed her hand. "Yeah, I'm here, kiddo."

The voice was familiar, and she was relieved. "Jack," she breathed. "I had the most horrible dream. I dreamed that you and I were different somehow, and we didn't remember each other. It was so scary, Jack."

She felt someone bend over her, and then a tender kiss on her forehead. "It was a dream, kiddo," whispered his voice. "No need to be scared. I'm here."

"Good," she sighed, happily. "Don't ever leave me, Jack."

"I won't, sweetheart," he whispered. "I won't."

She drifted back off to sleep, happier than she had been in ages. When she awoke again, sunlight was streaming through the ragged curtains onto the bed. She looked around at the sparse, dirty room she was in, covered in dust and cobwebs, and turned to come face to face with a man seated by the bed, a man she didn't recognize.

"Oh…good, you're awake," he said, smiling. "The boss'll be relieved, and so am I. Means I can go to bed," he said, yawning.

"Who…who are you?" asked Harleen, terrified.

"Name's Rocco Demarco," he said. "Won't mean anything to you, unless you take an interest in petty criminals. Anyway, I'll go tell the boss you're awake, and bring you some breakfast. You must be starving – you haven't eaten anything in days. I can't even go hours without a snack, but I guess that explains my body type. Can I bring you anything else? You're not cold or anything, huh?"

"No…I…" stammered Harleen. "Uh…I'm sorry, I'm very confused. Would you mind telling me where I am, and what I'm doing here?"

"You're in the Joker's hideout," replied Rocco. "Can't tell you where exactly – the boss kills people who give away the location of hideouts. As for what you're doing here, hell if I know. When the boss told me he was busting outta the nuthouse, he didn't say anything about bringing anyone with him, especially not a shrink. It ain't like the boss to leave witnesses. They're much funnier to him dead. Guess you're lucky you're funnier to him alive, for some reason."

"What…reason?" asked Harleen.

He shrugged. "Dunno. The boss is a really unpredictable guy – I've been working for him five years now, and I haven't found any sorta method to his madness. And he's got a real unique sense of humor. You never know what he's gonna find funny. But that's part of the fun of working for him, I guess."

Harleen gently pulled the covers off, and saw that she was still wearing her work uniform and lab coat, creased and ruined as they were. "Oh, we got ya some clothes," said Rocco, heading over to a wardrobe and opening it. "I didn't know your size, but I got a kid your age, so I just guessed based on her. Real slim, pretty girl, my daughter, just like you. Her name's Angela. What's yours?"

"H…Harleen," she stammered.

"Harleen Frances Quinzel," said a voice from the doorway. Harleen turned to see the Joker standing there, smiling at her. "Rework it a bit, and you get Harley Quinn. It's a name that puts a smile on my face, Roc."

"Harley…Quinn," repeated Rocco, confused. Then he grinned. "Oh, I get it! Good gag, boss! Guess that's why she's funnier to you alive, huh?"

"That's right, Rocco," he replied. "Go make her some breakfast now."

Rocco nodded and hurried off, leaving Joker and Harleen alone. "How you feeling, kid?" he asked, laying a hand on her forehead. "Fever's gone, at least. And that cut's healing nicely."

"Uh…yes, I feel…fine," stammered Harleen, staring at him. "Why did you…why am I here?"

He laughed. "You're here because if I left you by the riverbank, you were gonna die," he retorted.

"And why would you have cared?" she asked. "You're a psychopath with no regard for human life. You treat death as one big joke."

"That's what the shrinks say!" chuckled Joker. "Always thought you thought differently, though."

"Not anymore," she murmured, gazing down at her hands. "Dr. Leland was right. My father was right. Everyone was right. I…I wanted to believe you were somebody else, so I refused to see who you are. I…thought you would never hurt me. I was wrong."

"_Have_ I hurt you?" he asked. "Aside from threatening you a little with that knife, but I had to do that to bust outta there. You don't know what it's like to be locked up in a cage like that, people pestering you with endless questions, your whole life controlled for you…it's so boring! I had to escape from that, or I really would have gone crazy!" he laughed.

Harleen was silent. "And I told you at the time, I didn't want it to be you," he continued. "I wasn't expecting to see you – I was gonna threaten a guard and then kill him once I got outside. But when you appeared, it all got so complicated. I had to improvise, so I did that as best I could. I hadn't counted on that little dip in the river, but no harm done in the end. In fact, I think I've just saved your life."

She gazed up at him. "Why?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I dunno. I enjoy the joke, I guess. Harley Quinn…you're funnier to me alive than dead."

She nodded slowly. "Well, I'm certainly glad I can amuse you," she muttered. "Go away now, please. I'd like to change."

He was surprised at her harsh tone, but headed for the door. "Bathroom's down the hall if you want a shower or something, but maybe you've had enough of water for now!" he laughed. "I'll be working in my study all day, but call Rocco if you need anything else."

"Can I ask…what are you planning on doing with me?" asked Harleen. "Am I a prisoner here?"

He grinned at her. "What should I be planning to do with you, toots?" he asked. "I don't have any nefarious schemes in mind for you. You feel free to leave as soon you're feeling up to it. Just tell Rocco and he'll drop you wherever you want."

"Are you joking?" she asked.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he laughed. "Look, kid, as impossible as it is for you to believe, I don't wanna hurt you. I only kill people when it's funny, when I got some kinda joke to go with it, and there wouldn't be anything funny about killing you. So you're free to go whenever you want. Back to your boring little life, with your boring little job, and your boring little boyfriend you can't stand to have touch you. I don't envy you any of that. If anything, I feel sorry for you."

"_You _feel sorry for _me_?" demanded Harleen.

"Yeah. You may not think it, but I'm a lucky guy, toots," he said. "I'm completely free now. Free from memories and ties to my past, free from sanity and manipulative emotions like sympathy and compassion. I can do whatever I want, whatever makes me happy. I live to make myself smile. Not many people can say that, because not many people are truly free, like I am. You certainly ain't. And I think that's a shame. I don't like to see anybody locked up, certainly not someone so pretty. I don't see how anybody can be happy living in a cage like that. And it _is _a shame, because you got such a beautiful smile…"

He brushed his fingers gently against her cheek. Harleen was surprised to find herself shuddering as her heart pounded against her chest. Something about his touch was so familiar, so warm, so comforting…

"Jack," she whispered.

He drew his hand away. "Look, I…uh…I gotta go," he stammered. "Things to do…"

"Yeah…ok," whispered Harleen. "I'll…uh…I'll probably leave later today, if that's all right."

"Fine by me," he said. "See ya around, toots!"

"Goodbye, Mr. J," she whispered.

He paused at the doorway, and for a moment, Harleen thought he was going to turn around and say something. But he left suddenly, slamming the door and leaving her alone.


	13. Chapter 13

"Well, don't you look pretty!" exclaimed Rocco, as Harleen entered the kitchen later that day dressed in the red blouse and black pants he had bought. Contrary to routine, she had left her blonde hair down, and it hung past her shoulders. "You'd hardly know you'd recently been in an accident! You hungry?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied.

"Good, 'cause I made a lotta pancakes," he said, piling some onto a plate and handing it to her. "You eat up now, and then we'll take you home. Boss says a lotta people'll be missing you, your boss and your boyfriend and everyone."

"Yeah, I…I guess they will," she agreed.

"Your boyfriend's a real lucky guy, if you don't mind me saying so," continued Rocco. "The boss thinks so too."

"Does…he?" stammered Harleen, surprised.

"Sure he does," he said, shoveling some sausages onto her plate. "I told him your boyfriend's a lucky guy, and he said he was probably the luckiest guy in the world, aside from him."

"Did he…say anything else about me?" asked Harleen, quietly.

"Only that you seem real familiar to him," he said. "He thinks he knew you before the accident somehow. You know the boss don't have a lotta memories before then, but he said he could never forget your face. He said he ain't that crazy!" he laughed.

"Why do you work for him?" she asked. "A…madman like that?"

"Well, it pays the bills," said Rocco. "Sometimes more than that, depending on what kinda crimes the boss does. Whatever it is, it's never dull. It's as good a job as any, and one of the few I'm qualified for. And most criminals are a pretty crazy bunch. At least the boss usually gets results. He's smart, y'see. Not many criminals are. I certainly ain't. He may be crazy, but he ain't stupid."

Harleen nodded, finishing her breakfast in silence while Rocco chatted away about trivialities. "So we'd better take you home to that boyfriend of yours," said Rocco, standing up. "You must be missing him a lot."

"No, I'm…I'm not," said Harleen, suddenly. "I don't want to go back to him. I don't…love him."

"Oh," said Rocco, surprised. He was silent for a moment and then said, "Well, can I ask why you're with him if you don't love him?"

"I don't know," whispered Harleen. "Because…because I was afraid to be alone. Because I…had an incident in my own past that made me terrified and suspicious of the world, and I was afraid I didn't have the strength to face it on my own. Because…a man I loved very much…abandoned me once, and I never got over it. But…but I think we've found each other again now. I think fate or destiny or whatever you wanna call it has given us a second chance of being happy together. And I'd be crazy to throw it away."

She stood up. "You don't have to drive me anywhere. I'm staying here."

"Oh…ok," said Rocco. "I'll…uh…tell the boss. How long are you staying?"

"As long as he wants," she murmured. "As long as he needs me."

…

Later that night, the Joker stared at the blank page in front of him, head in his hands. Normally schemes and plots came easy to him, but this time something was distracting his usual criminal genius from asserting itself. And he knew what it was. Harleen Frances Quinzel.

The first time he saw her, memories had begun to haunt him, memories that didn't make any sense to him. Memories of a child, a sweet, beautiful child, with a perfect smile and a clown doll. And memories of blood and death and pain – screaming and sobbing and agony, agony as he lost that child forever. Or thought he had.

The incident was as much a blank to him as it was to Harleen. But that didn't stop it from intruding on his life, just as it had on hers. And that name…she kept calling him that name…Jack. Had that been his name? Probably. Jack Napier sounded familiar enough. But he remembered the Joker more clearly than he remembered him – he remembered endless stories and adventures this Joker had had with Harley Quinn…Harleen Quinzel.

It couldn't be a coincidence, none of it. The Joker didn't believe in coincidence. In some way, he had been fated to become this Joker character. And maybe Harleen was fated to become Harley. Maybe she knew that, deep down. She certainly wasn't happy now. He could make her happy, he was sure, if she would let him. If she wanted him to.

But she was still scared, he could see it in her eyes. As scared as he had been when Batman had knocked him into that vat of acid, and he had fallen, and risen again as the Joker. But that had been his fate. And it was all for the best, in the end. If Harleen only had the courage to face her fate too, to overcome that moment of fear and embrace her true self…

He crumpled up the piece of paper. But that was crazy. A gal like that, smart, pretty, talented, she didn't want to waste her life playing some stupid game like he did, night after night. Not that he didn't enjoy it, but she seemed too serious to ever enjoy that kinda fun. Too stuck in her ways to ever see what life was truly about. Maybe it was too late for her. Maybe she had let fear control her life so long that she couldn't break out of her cage and be free. Maybe she couldn't really laugh or smile anymore. But he wanted so much to help her try…

He didn't know why he had saved her life. Some instinct deep inside him had told him it was the right thing to do, that he would have regretted it if she had died. The Joker didn't have any regrets, and he would have hated having one now, so he had listened to his heart or his conscience or whatever it was and taken care of the girl. He had watched over her night after night, trying to figure out why she was so important, why she affected him much more than any other human being ever had. It was true, he didn't care about human life. Death was all one big joke to him. But he wouldn't have laughed if she had died. He might have cried.

And she kept calling him Jack. He liked being called that. He liked the thought that this girl might have loved him once…and that he might have loved her. But what good was any of that now? She didn't love him anymore. She had a boyfriend, after all, a real life which he should be no part of, much as he might want to. The sooner she returned to it, the better. The sooner he could stop being distracted by her and focus on the things that really mattered, like Batman. Games and jokes and fun, that was what life was about, not heartache over some stupid woman...

A knock came on his door. "What?" he snapped, whirling around.

"Uh…boss…just thought you should know that…uh…the dame's still here," said Rocco, opening the door. "I offered to drop her off, but…she said she wanted to stay."

"Why?" he demanded, angrily.

"I think maybe…you should ask her," he said, slowly.

Joker nodded, standing up. "Look, Roc, why doncha go home?" he asked. "You've had a hard couple days, and this new scheme…it's gonna be delayed a little."

"Ok, boss, if you're sure," said Rocco. "Night."

Joker waited until he heard the door shut downstairs, and then left his study, heading down the hall to Harleen's room. He opened the door to darkness. The light from the hall illuminated her sleeping form, eyes shut and breathing softly.

He sat down on the bed, studying her. An irresistible compulsion seized him, and he bent down to kiss her nose. She sighed happily, wriggling her nose. "Again," she whispered.

He smiled, obeying her. "You stayed," he murmured.

"Mmm hmm," she said, opening her eyes to smile at him.

"Why?" he asked. "Why are you still here?"

She gazed back at him. "Don't you know?" she asked.

"It's crazy…" he began.

"It is," she agreed. "It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world. Time to admit it, doncha think?"

She drew aside the covers, and he was shocked to see that she was completely naked. "Harley…" he gasped.

"Touch me," she murmured. "Please."

His hand trembled as he brought it to her throat, softly brushing his fingers against it. With his other hand, he cupped her face, and gently kissed her mouth. Harleen gasped, moaning a little in pleasure and whispering, "Oh, I remember now! I remember how much I wanted to be kissed by you, Jack!"

"I'm not Jack, Harley," he whispered. "Not anymore. I don't remember him. You have to understand that."

She nodded slowly. "You're still my Mr. J, though," she murmured, gazing at him. "My Joker."

She lay her hand against his cheek. "I think somewhere in that time neither of us can remember, we fell in love," she whispered. "Something happened then that meant we were fated to be together. I think everything from that moment to this has been building up to us coming together again. I think we're destined for each other. The Joker and Harley Quinn."

He kissed her passionately, pressing her down on the bed. "Do you think I'm crazy, Mr. J?" she whispered, staring up at him pleadingly.

"Yes," he whispered. "Oh God, yes. And I couldn't love you more for it, Harley Quinn."

She beamed, pulling him down into her arms. This was right where she belonged at last.


	14. Chapter 14

"You ok?" he asked, as they lay in each other's arms afterward. He brushed aside a lock of hair from her face and she smiled at him.

"Better than ok," she whispered. "I feel…whole. I've never felt complete before – something was always missing. But I never…wanted it before with Ricky. I just felt like…he didn't belong there. His touch felt wrong. But everything about this felt right," she murmured, snuggling against him.

"Mmm, we can make it feel a little more wrong next time if you wanna," he murmured, grinning at her.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," said Harleen, in mock innocence.

"Don't play dumb with me, kid," he murmured, kissing her. "You may look innocent, but you're a lot more of a bad girl than you let on."

"Don't you like it?" she asked, concerned.

"I love it," he murmured. "I love _you_, Harley Quinn."

She beamed at him. "Yeah?" she asked, hopefully.

"Yeah," he said firmly, kissing her nose again.

She giggled. "I love you too, Mr. J," she whispered, curling up into his arms. "And it don't matter what anyone else says. You ain't a bad man. You can't be bad. And if the world thinks you are, then it must be bad instead. I dunno why it's taken me so long to see that."

"You were afraid," he murmured. "I understand. I think I must have been afraid most of my life too. But you ain't afraid anymore, are you, Harley?"

"Nah uh," she agreed. "I'm only afraid of losing you."

"Well, that won't ever happen," he said, grinning.

"Pinky promise?" she said, holding up her hand.

He shook her pinky. "C'mon, kid, you really think I'm crazy enough to leave all this?" he said, throwing aside the covers and beginning to kiss her body.

"Mr. J! Stop it! It tickles!" she giggled, writhing around happily. "Mr. J! Mr. J…oh, Mr. J!"

He kissed her mouth. "You wanna play a game, toots?" he asked, grinning at her.

"Mmm…what kinda game?" she whispered, smiling.

He stood up, throwing on his robe, and rummaged around in the closet for a bit. "Here they are!" he exclaimed, holding up a pair of handcuffs.

"Oh, Mr. J," breathed Harleen, as he approached her. "That's so naughty."

"You like it, huh, baby?" he whispered, kissing her.

"Uh huh," she said, grinning.

He handcuffed her wrists to the bedpost, kissed her again, and said, "Wait here just like that. I'll be back in a second."

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"The kitchen," he said. "Just to get some stuff to play with."

"What kinda stuff?" she asked, confused.

"Stop being so curious, my little minx," he said, kissing her forehead. "Just enjoy the surprise."

He paused in the doorway. "Do you like whipped cream or chocolate pudding better?" he asked, grinning at her.

"Oh, puddin'," she murmured, smiling. "It's messier."

"My thoughts exactly," he chuckled. "Back in a second. Don't go anywhere."

He whistled happily as he headed downstairs into the kitchen. "_A hundred and one pounds of fun, that's my little honey bun! Get a load of honey bun tonight! I'm speaking of my sweetie pie, only sixty inches high – every inch is packed with dynamite! Her hair is blonde and curly, her curls are hurly-burly, her lips are pips, I call her hips 'twirly' and 'whirly.'_"

He opened the door to the refrigerator and pulled out the bowl of chocolate pudding as he continued singing: "_She's my baby, I'm her pap! I'm her booby, she's my trap! I am caught and I don't wanna run, 'cause I'm having so much fun with honey bun!_"

He shut the fridge door and turned around with the pudding in his hands to come face to face with Batman. "Aw, son of a…" he began, but was cut off with a punch to the face.

Harleen heard the commotion coming from downstairs. "Mr. J?" she called in concern. She struggled against the handcuffs, but they held fast. "Mr J!" she cried, as she heard something heavy fall to the ground.

A second later, the bedroom door was thrown open, and Harleen saw, for the first time, the man known as Batman.

She was too stunned to do anything but stare at him for a second. Batman stared back, clearly shocked at the scene before him. "Oh my God," he muttered, rushing to cover her up. "It's ok," he said, fiddling with the lock on the handcuffs. "You're safe now."

"Where is he?" whispered Harleen, terrified. "What have you done with him?"

"He's unconscious," retorted Batman, as he released her. "Don't worry – he won't avoid facing justice for this."

"For what?" demanded Harleen, her fear quickly turning to anger. "You brute! What right do you think you have to go around breaking into people's homes and invading their privacy?!"

"Dr. Quinzel, I understand you're upset, and that's only natural having been through such a traumatic experience…" began Batman, trying to help her up.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped, furiously, clutching the blankets to her as she stood up. "Just get lost, would ya?!"

He nodded slowly. "I'll leave you to…get dressed while I take the wanted felon downstairs into custody. Excuse me."

He disappeared down the stairs. Harleen dressed quickly and raced after him. The hideout was empty now, and she rushed to the front door, throwing it open.

She was immediately assaulted by the blinding flashes of what seemed like a hundred cameras. She tried to shield her eyes while also trying to figure out what on earth was going on. Through the mass of voices that kept shouting her name, she dimly saw Batman in the distance, dragging a bound, bleeding figure toward a waiting police van. "Mr. J!" she shrieked, shoving her way through the sea of reporters. She reached the van just as Batman threw the Joker inside.

Harleen's heart broke to see how bruised and bloodied he was, but he opened his swollen eyes to grin at her through missing teeth. "Hey, kiddo," he whispered.

"Oh, Mr. J," she gasped, tears in her eyes as she clapped a hand to her mouth. "I'm so sorry…"

The door slammed shut at that moment, and the van drove off. "Dr. Quinzel, if you'd like to come with us," said one of the police officers, laying a hand on her shoulder. "We just need to ask you a few questions, and then we can take you home."

Harleen felt lost and dazed, and numbly followed them into the waiting police car. She saw Batman standing a few feet away, talking with the police commissioner. Batman nodded at her, and suddenly Harleen's fury returned. "You monster!" she shrieked, starting forward. "I'll kill you for what you've done to him, do you understand?! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"

Batman stared after her as she was dragged away, stunned. "What happened to her in there?" asked Commissioner Gordon, puzzled.

"I don't know," murmured Batman. "But I hope she's gonna be ok."


	15. Chapter 15

"We've contacted Dr. Leland and Ricky Sorkin – they should be here any minute," said Commissioner Gordon, putting the phone down. "You feeling up to answering some questions?"

"No," muttered Harleen, keeping her eyes fixed on the floor. "I don't wanna talk about it."

Commissioner Gordon was silent. "Dr. Quinzel, I understand this is very difficult," he said. "It must have been horrible being in that monster's clutches. But the only way he can be punished for what he's done is if you tell me…"

"Tell you what?" demanded Harleen, glaring up at him.

"Tell me…what he did to you," stammered Gordon, surprised. "Batman said he found you naked and handcuffed to the bed…"

"Batman shouldn't have been breaking and entering in the first place," growled Harleen. "When are you cops gonna do your job properly and arrest that maniac instead of being complicit in the workings of a criminal?! Because that's what he is – a criminal! He has no authority to do what he does, beating people to within an inch of their life because he gets some perverse thrill out of it! But because the people he attacks are supposedly bad, and because he doesn't kill them, he can do whatever the hell he wants to them, isn't that right, Commissioner?! You'll turn a blind eye to all of it as long as he keeps attacking the right kind of people?!"

Commissioner Gordon nodded slowly. "I can't say I'm particularly outraged when Batman chooses to target a convicted murderer and now a rapist…"

"A what?" demanded Harleen.

"Uh…a rapist," he stammered. "Your sexual assault is evidence of…"

"My sexual assault?!" repeated Harleen, angrily. "The Joker did not sexually assault me!"

"Forgive me, Dr. Quinzel, Dr. Leland tells me you have a history of repression, but the evidence points to a sexual encounter between…"

"It was consensual!" shouted Harleen. "Is that so hard for you to believe?!"

"Uh…yes," said Gordon, slowly. "You're a respectable doctor, a rational, intelligent woman in a happy relationship, or so I've been told. I don't see what could have possessed you to consent to sexual intercourse with…that thing unless he was threatening you in some way..."

"That thing is a man!" shrieked Harleen. "A living, breathing, feeling man! A man I love, Commissioner!"

Gordon cleared his throat. "Look, I'm no shrink, but I was speaking to Dr. Leland about the…incident, and she says sometimes people who are…ashamed of what happened to them…convince themselves that they are responsible for their trauma in some way. I don't like to contradict your statement, but you do have this history of repression, so maybe you're lying to yourself about what actually happened in order to cope with the pain and humiliation of being…"

"Shut up!" shrieked Harleen, standing up. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! You don't know what you're talking about! _I'm _a psychiatrist, and I'm telling you you're wrong! You know nothing about me!"

"Then why don't you tell me why a psychiatrist such as yourself would voluntarily engage in sexual intercourse with a homicidal madman?" asked Gordon.

"I told you!" she hissed. "I love him!"

"What's to love?" he asked.

"Harley, there you are!" exclaimed Ricky, racing into the office just as Harleen was about to unleash a torrent of abuse at Commissioner Gordon. Ricky hugged her tightly. "Oh my God, I was so worried! Are you ok? What…"

"Let go of me," snapped Harleen, shoving him away.

"Harley…" he said, surprised.

"She's been through a very traumatic experience, Mr. Sorkin," said Gordon, gently. "She might be reluctant to be touched for some time. There's evidence of a…erm…sexual assault."

Harleen rolled her eyes as Ricky stared at Gordon in horror. "What, by that…that…thing?" he gasped.

"Oh, shut up, Ricky, you don't know anything about him," growled Harleen, sinking into a chair with her head in her hands.

Ricky was shaking in rage. "I'll…I'll kill him!" he stammered.

"Now calm down, son…" began Gordon, but Harleen suddenly laughed scornfully.

"_You'll_ kill _him_?" she repeated, mockingly. "Don't be ridiculous, Ricky."

"Harley, why are you acting like this?" demanded Ricky. "I know you've been hurt, but I'm only trying to help you…"

"Then stop saying stupid things," she growled. "The Joker could kill you without batting an eyelid. Don't go up against him over a misunderstanding – you wouldn't last two seconds. And nobody wants to see you dead."

"What misunderstanding?" demanded Ricky. "I'm trying to defend your honor…"

"Well, don't," snapped Harleen. "Nobody's asked you to."

"Harley, are you all right?" asked Dr. Leland, rushing into the office and hugging her. "God, I can't imagine what you've been through…"

"No," agreed Harleen. "I don't think anybody can."

"Erm…Doc…can I have a word in private?" asked Gordon, beckoning Dr. Leland. "Just for a second…"

Dr. Leland followed Gordon out of the office. "What is it, Commissioner?" he asked.

"Dr. Quinzel…insists that…it wasn't a sexual assault," he muttered. "She says she's in love with him. You wanna explain to me how that's possible?"

"Oh," said Dr. Leland, surprised. "Well, it's a fairly common disorder called Stockholm syndrome – the illusion that you've fallen in love with your captor, mistaking lack of abuse for kindness. But Harley's smart enough to recognize that…"

"Then I suggest you get her to recognize it," muttered Gordon. "Because frankly I'm starting to fear for her sanity."

Dr. Leland nodded, re-entering the room. Harleen was seated in the corner, staring at the floor, while Ricky shot glances of concern at her. "Harley," said Dr. Leland, sitting down next to her. "Everyone in this room has genuine affection for you. You know that, don't you?"

Harleen nodded. "We're trying to help you," murmured Dr. Leland, soothingly. "I know you've been through more trauma than most people suffer their whole lives, what with that childhood incident, and now this, but I also know you're strong enough to overcome that."

"I am, Joan," agreed Harleen, quietly. "I am now."

"And I know you're smart enough to recognize Stockholm syndrome when you see it," continued Dr. Leland. "And you're an excellent psychiatrist who's capable of self-evaluation…"

Harleen looked up at her. "You think this is a delusion?" she murmured. "You think I've got some kinda mental disease? That there's something wrong with me?"

"I think if you look at your symptoms…" began Dr. Leland, gently.

"Listen to me!" shouted Harleen, standing up. "Why doesn't anyone but Mr. J listen to me?! There is nothing wrong with my mind! There was for a long time, but not anymore! Now everything makes sense, and it's all thanks to Mr. J! And if that's a disease or a disorder in your mind, then _you're_ the crazy ones, not me! Sanity…sanity just doesn't make sense anymore…"

She trailed off, tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, sitting down slowly. "I'm sorry for the outburst. I'm sorry for…everything I said. It's just…so upsetting!"

She burst into tears. Dr. Leland patted her on the back, soothing her gently. "Commissioner, I don't think she's in any fit state to make a statement," she said, turning to Gordon. "Why don't you let her go home and rest for a couple days, and you can get her statement when she's had some time to recover?"

"And…can I see you, Joan?" asked Harleen, hopefully. "Can we have a few sessions and talk in your office?"

"Of course, Harley," said Dr. Leland, gently.

"It's just so nice to be listened to," murmured Harleen. "And nobody here will listen to me…"

They never would, she thought, looking from one to the other. No matter how much she defended Mr. J, they were all dead set against him, like the rest of the world. Well, it didn't matter what they thought anymore. It didn't matter what anyone thought. If everyone hated Mr. J, that made it even more important that she proved her love for him. The only way everyone would understand.


	16. Chapter 16

"Where ya been, Harley?" asked Ricky, as the door to their apartment opened and she entered.

"Out," she replied.

"Out where?" he asked.

"Shopping," she said, placing a bag down on the floor.

"Can I see…" he began, but she quickly hid it from view.

"No, it's none of your business," she said, hastily.

Ricky gazed at her. "Harley, I want to help you get through this," he whispered. "I don't know what's wrong with you, but I know the only way you're gonna get better is if you start to trust the people who love you. We can work this out together."

"There's nothing wrong with me, Ricky," retorted Harleen. "As soon as you understand that, the better."

"You've changed," he said. "You're not acting like you…"

"Oh, Ricky, you never really knew who I was," she sighed. "Mr. J always did, though. I belonged to him from the first moment we met, all that time ago."

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "Dr. Leland said you only met a few weeks ago…"

Harleen shook her head. "Mr. J saved my life. In every way a person can. I love him so much, and I belong to him forever and ever."

Ricky took her by the shoulders. "You belong to me!" he hissed, desperately.

Harleen gazed back at him calmly. "Mr. J had me first," she whispered.

Ricky grew furious. He whirled away from her, grabbing the bag. "Don't…" began Harleen, racing after him, but he opened it to reveal a collection of gag items – rubber chickens, stink bombs, pop guns, marbles, can'o'snakes, a black mask, and a costume.

"What is all this?" he demanded.

"Just…a joke," stammered Harleen. "A joke, that's all."

"What kinda joke?" he demanded.

Harleen was silent. He grabbed her by the shoulders again. "Harley, listen to me!" he hissed. "Whatever you may believe, this guy, this Joker…is _not _the man you met all those years ago! That man is gone, and whatever you may have felt for him is gone too! Don't throw your life away on this…this…lunatic because you've convinced yourself he's someone he's not! I can't think of anything more tragic!"

"I know who he is, Ricky," she whispered. "He's the Joker. He's _my _Joker. And I'm his Harley Quinn."

"What the hell are you talking about?!" he demanded.

"I know you don't understand, Ricky," she murmured. "I wish you could. He and I are a part of it, and we don't really understand it ourselves, so what chance have you got? But there's a difference between understanding and knowing. And I _know_ I'm meant to be with him. I can't explain it in a way you can understand, but that doesn't make it any less true."

"Harley, I'm stopping this!" said Ricky, firmly. "Do you understand?! I'm stopping this now!"

He stormed toward the front door. "Ricky? Where are you going? Ricky!" she called, racing after him. He slammed the door in her face. Harleen wrenched it open and raced down the stairs in time to see him disappearing into his car. "Ricky!" she shrieked, as he drove off.

She ran back upstairs to grab her own car keys, and then followed him. "He's gonna get himself killed," she muttered, starting the engine. "I hope I'm not too late."

…

Ricky threw open the doors to Arkham Asylum, storming over to reception. "I wanna see the Joker, please," he said, calmly.

"He's in therapy with Dr. Leland at the moment…" began the receptionist.

"Thank you, I know the way," interrupted Ricky, heading off down the hall.

"Uh…sir…you can't disturb the therapy session…sir…" stammered the receptionist, racing after him.

"Ricky!" exclaimed Dr. Leland, surprised as the door to her office was flung violently open to reveal a familiar figure. "What are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to see him, Joan," whispered Ricky, glaring in hatred at the figure on the therapy couch, the smiling face of the Joker.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Leland, I tried to tell him…" began the receptionist.

"It's fine, Laurie, let me talk to him," said Dr. Leland, putting down the notepad. "Come in, Ricky. Shut the door."

Ricky obeyed, taking a seat opposite the Joker. "Now I understand you're upset, Ricky, but do you really think this is the time or place for…" began Dr. Leland.

"Yes," he interrupted, coldly. "Yes, I do."

"I don't understand what you're trying to accomplish by…" began Dr. Leland.

"I just want to talk to him," growled Ricky.

Dr. Leland nodded slowly. "Be my guest," she said, gesturing to the Joker.

Ricky glared at him. "Let her go," he hissed, slowly.

"Not one for small talk, I see!" chuckled Joker. "I'm sorry, who is this?" he asked, turning to Dr. Leland.

"This is Ricky Sorkin, Mr. Joker," said Dr. Leland. "Harley's…boyfriend."

Joker laughed. "Oh, is it?" he chuckled, grinning at Ricky. "Mr. No Touchy? Well, sorry, Ricardo, but I think you're probably considered her ex-boyfriend now, since I…y'know…" He trailed off, sticking his finger in his mouth and making a popping noise. "No hard feelings though, right? Can't say the best man didn't win in the end."

"I want you to let her go," repeated Ricky, coldly. "She doesn't understand what she's doing..."

"You saying she's an idiot?" interrupted Joker. "That's pretty demeaning, I'm not gonna lie. And I used to think _I _didn't respect women! The poor, dumb blonde girl is too stupid to understand what she's doing, so the big, strong, smart boyfriend is gonna fix everything for her, since he knows best. Never mind that she's a shrink, and a helluva lot smarter than you'll ever be. Helluva lot braver than you'll ever be too. No, you have to wade in here and confront me like some big, dumb gorilla in shining armor, trying to threaten me to release my spell over her. Well, news flash for ya, kid. I don't have the power to break this particular spell. She's in love with me…"

"She's not!" hissed Ricky. "She's confused, and you're taking advantage of it! You have to tell her the truth!"

"What truth?" demanded Joker.

"That you're not Jack Napier," he hissed. "That you're not this man she's allowed to get in the way of her life for far too long! She has to stop being stuck in this nightmare of her past and get on with her future! She has to be able to live a normal life…"

"Let me let you in on a secret, kid – normal lives are overrated," said Joker. "Harley don't deserve to be condemned to that. She's far too interesting."

"Harley is not some stupid game or some…sick joke!" hissed Ricky. "She's the woman I love…"

"Then I feel kinda bad for you, kid," interrupted Joker. "Don't change the fact though, do it?"

"What fact?" demanded Ricky.

Joker grinned. "Harley is mine," he whispered.

Ricky's fury grew. "She's…she's not…" he hissed.

"Nah, maybe you're right," he agreed, smiling. "Maybe she belongs to the guy who took her virginity. Oh, hang on, that was me…"

Without warning, Ricky leapt to his feet and punched him in the face. "Ricky, stop it!" shouted Dr. Leland, rushing to separate them. "Stop…"

But it was too late. The Joker easily blocked Ricky's second blow, grabbing his arm and pinning it behind his back. He then seized the back of his head and suddenly slammed his face violently into the corner of the desk. Joker began laughing hysterically over Ricky's screams as he continued pounding his face into the corner of the wood, blood flying everywhere. By the time the guards arrived to restrain him, Ricky was already gone.

"Joan…Mr. J!" gasped Harleen, racing into the room at that moment. She reeled back in horror at seeing the situation, the battered body of her boyfriend, and the Joker covered in his blood. "Oh…my God!" she gasped.

"Harley…" began Dr. Leland, racing to shield her from the sight.

"I told him not to go," whispered Harleen. "I told him he wouldn't last two seconds…"

She gazed up at the Joker. "Why'd you do it, Mr. J?" she whispered, tearfully.

He wiped the blood from his eyes. "Sorry, Harl," he muttered. "Guess I kinda got carried away...but beating someone's skull in is just a natural reaction when I get attacked. And he started it…"

"Oh, Mr. J!" she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "How could you?!"

"Harley, I…I didn't think it would hurt you," he stammered, genuinely shocked to see her so upset. "I didn't think you cared about him…"

"He didn't deserve that, Mr. J," whispered Harleen. "All he ever did was love me."

"Please just…take him away," snapped Dr. Leland at the guards.

"Harley…" he murmured, as he was dragged off. "Harley, I…I'm sorry..."

"You ain't though, are ya?" she murmured, staring back at him.

"I'm sorry…you were hurt by it," he replied. "But no, I ain't sorry he's dead. I'm a heartless psychopath with no regard for human life, ain't that right?"

"Yeah, Mr. J," whispered Harleen, gazing after him with tears in her eyes. "That's right."


	17. Chapter 17

"Ricky would have liked the ceremony, don't you think, Harley?" asked Mrs. Quinzel, gently, startling Harleen out of her thoughts. She and her parents had just left Ricky's funeral, and were now sitting in a café close by the church. They hadn't spoken since before the ceremony, and during it, all of Harleen's thoughts kept flashing back to her time with the Joker.

"Oh, I…I hope so, Mom," she stammered. She felt horribly guilty about it, especially after what had happened, but she couldn't control it. Every word that had been spoken during the service had been punctuated with visions of her and Mr. J together, memories of his touch, his kiss, the feel of his warm body pressed into hers…she was obsessed with such thoughts. Her mind kept turning back to them, no matter how hard she tried to focus on other things. She needed to be with him again. She needed _him_.

"Such a tragic thing to happen to that nice boy," murmured Mrs. Quinzel.

Harleen nodded but said nothing. Mr. Quinzel was silent too, studying her. "And have you thought about what you're going to do now, Harley?" he asked, gently. "You're always welcome to come back home…"

"Oh, I…I can't leave my job, Dad," said Harleen, slowly. "I have patients…and work to do…"

Mr. Quinzel lay a hand on her arm. "This is about _him, _isn't it?" he asked, gently.

Harleen shut her eyes tightly. "I…I can't stop thinking about him," she whispered. "Even all the time during the funeral, when I should have been thinking about Ricky, I was thinking about him. It's…crazy. I know it's crazy, especially after what he's done. But I can't…I can't help myself."

She buried her face in her hands. "I'm in love with him," she whispered. "And I know that's wrong after what he's done, I should be disgusted about it, but I…don't care. I'm not ashamed of it. I do feel guilty about what happened to Ricky because of me, though. The truth is…he died for no reason. He died defending my honor when it didn't need to be defended. I…gave myself voluntarily to another man, a man I love more than life itself. And maybe the tragic thing is, I know he's a monster. And I still love him."

She looked up at her parents. "That's what love is, isn't it?" she whispered. "It's unconditional. I mean, even if I…killed someone, you'd still love me, wouldn't you?"

"That's different, Harley," said her father, gently. "You're our child. Of course we'd love you whatever you do."

Harleen nodded slowly. "And…my love for Mr. J is the same," she murmured. "It's like a child's. I loved him…when I was a child. And that kind of love is unconditional. And deep. And strong. And if you murdered someone, Dad, I would still love you as much as I do now."

Her father was silent. "I guess there's no way either of us can change your mind about him?" he asked, quietly. "Nothing we can say or do?"

"Nah. Nobody could ever change my mind about you either," she replied, shaking her head. She stared down at the table. "Do you mean that…about loving me whatever I do?" she asked, slowly.

Her parents both nodded. "Then…I gotta tell ya…I ain't coming back to Brooklyn with you," she murmured. "I'm staying in Gotham, with the man I love. I'm gonna help him in every way I can, and I'm never gonna give up on him. And we're gonna be so happy together. So happy. Neither one of us will ever stop smiling again."

Nobody spoke for a long time. And then Harleen's father stood up. "We can't support you in this, Harleen," he said.

"But we will always love you," said her mother, gently.

"I hope one day you'll be able to see him as everyone else does," continued her father. "Until then, take care of yourself and try to be safe. And if you ever need us, you know where we are."

"Thank you for not trying to stop me," murmured Harleen.

"Oh baby, when could we ever stop you doing whatever you wanted?" asked her mother, with a slight smile.

"And it wouldn't do any good, trying to talk you outta it," murmured her father. "Unlike you, I don't believe people can be talked outta insanity."

Mrs. Quinzel took Harleen's hands. "I'm glad…you're happy," she whispered. "The boy…Jack Napier…loved you very much, anyone could see that. I hope the Joker remembers that about him, if nothing else."

"He does, Mom," whispered Harleen, tears in her eyes. "He does."

She hugged both her parents tightly. "I love you both so much," she whispered. "Goodbye."

She watched them leave the café, finishing her drink alone. Then she returned to her apartment and picked up her bag of shopping. It was time.

…

"How was the funeral, Harley?" asked Dr. Leland. It was evening in Arkham Asylum, and Harleen had asked Dr. Leland to stay late tonight – she told her she felt she needed a therapy session after the day's ordeals, and Dr. Leland figured it was the least she could do under the circumstances.

"It was fine, Joan," replied Harleen, quietly.

"I understand that your feelings must be very conflicting at this time…" began Dr. Leland.

"No, Joan," interrupted Harleen. "No, there's no conflict. For the first time in my life, I'm sure of what I'm feeling and what I'm doing. I've never felt any decision in my life is as right as this one is."

"What decision?" asked Dr. Leland.

She looked at her. "You told me once that I couldn't live my life in fear," she murmured, standing up to face the wall. "I'm not anymore. The mental issues that made me consult you in the first place, the nightmares, the insecurities, the repression…they're gone. It's all gone. So thank you for that. You helped me so much, letting me talk about Jack, and remember Jack, and then introducing me to Mr. J. I owe so much of my happiness to you. So for that, I'm very grateful. And for that, I'm sorry for the headache I'm gonna give you, both literally and figuratively. I'm sorry for what I'm about to do."

"What…" began Dr. Leland, but Harleen whirled away from the wall suddenly, striking Dr. Leland across the head with a rubber chicken…with a brick inside.

Dr. Leland fell to the ground, unconscious. Harleen checked to make sure she was still breathing, and then turned her attention back to the bag she had placed on the shelf, which she had removed the rubber chicken from. She rummaged through it until she found the costume she had bought – a skintight red and black catsuit with diamond patterns on the legs and sleeves. She hastily stripped off her regular clothing and pulled on the costume, breathing a sigh of relief as she pulled on her matching gloves, shoes, hat, and finally mask. She looked in the mirror, beaming at her reflection. She had never felt more comfortable in her own skin. Finally, she looked beautiful. She only hoped Mr. J would be pleased.

She spent a few more moments applying some white face makeup and black lipstick, then took one more look in the mirror, smiled, and headed out the door.

The Joker had been lying awake in his cell when he heard the commotion from outside. Then the door to the cell block was flung open and the guards fell forward, gasping and choking on the invading, blinding gas. Joker coughed, recognizing the gas. It wasn't what he was expecting at all.

"Stink bomb?" he muttered. "What the hell?"

A second later, a blinding flash of light and an explosion rocked the cell, knocking him to the ground. When the smoke cleared, the Joker saw a woman standing in the remains of the doorway, beaming at him.

"Knock, knock, puddin'," she breathed. "Say hello to your new, improved Harley Quinn!"

"H…Harley?" he gasped, gazing up at her in shock. She held out her hand and helped him to his feet. "You…came back," he stammered.

"Course I came back," she murmured. "The Joker always needs his Harley Quinn. She may not be as funny as he is, but she makes him laugh. And she loves him. She loves him so much," she whispered, gazing up at him.

He smiled tenderly at her. "He loves her too, kiddo," he whispered, tilting her chin up.

"Yeah?" she whispered, grinning. "Forever and ever?"

"Forever and ever," he agreed, enveloping her mouth with his own.

Their passionate kiss was interrupted by the blaring of the alarm. "C'mon, we gotta get outta here," gasped Harley, grabbing his hand and racing toward the exit. Joker paused to take the guns from the unconscious guards, and then raced down the hall after her. Another group of guards was heading towards them, and Harley threw a sack of marbles at their feet, tripping them up, while Joker shot at them.

"We make a good team, kid!" he giggled, as they escaped into the parking lot, leaping into Harley's car. "Try not to crash into the river this time though, huh?"

"Thought you liked me a little wet, Mr. J," replied Harley, grinning as she accelerated the car. He laughed hysterically as they broke through the barrier, racing off into the streets of Gotham.

…

"…in other news, the homicidal maniac known only as the Joker has once again escaped from Arkham Asylum, this time with the help of an accomplice, Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel, former psychiatrist at Arkham. Her colleague and supervisor, Dr. Joan Leland, had no comment to make at this time, but our team of independent researchers can confirm that Dr. Quinzel has had a long history of mental illness dating back to a childhood trauma, leading some people to question why she was considered qualified to be a psychiatrist in the first place. Dr. Quinzel was also recently kidnapped by the Joker during his previous breakout, and police have confirmed that they found evidence of a sexual encounter between the two. Our sources are investigating the possibility of unprofessional conduct between staff and patients in Arkham which could account for this…"

"Aw, I do feel bad for giving Joan that headache," sighed Harley, flicking off the TV and cuddling into the Joker's embrace. They were lying naked in bed together, and he was smoking a cigarette, which he casually put out by holding the end against his hand.

"Why do you do that?" asked Harley, confused.

He shrugged. "I dunno. Like the hissing sound, I guess. Reminds me of something, but I dunno what."

"Me neither," agreed Harley. "Something though."

He stroked her hair thoughtfully. "We make a great pair, don't we?" he murmured, grinning. "Two people without a memory between us."

"Well, what does the past really matter?" yawned Harley, nuzzling him. "My present and future are with you, so that's all I care about, puddin'."

"You really gonna call me that?" he asked, slightly annoyed.

"Doncha like it?" she asked. "I think it brings back good memories of our first time together."

"It brings back memories to me of the Bat's fist," muttered Joker. Then he beamed. "Happy times either way, I suppose!" he chuckled.

Harley yawned. "Bedtime, huh, kiddo?" he asked, kissing her.

"Nah, not tired," she murmured, putting her arms around his neck. "Tell me a bedtime story."

"Ok," he said, grinning. "Once upon a time there was a clown called the Joker. He was pretty smart, for a clown, pretty handsome too. Funny, talented, charming…"

"Yeah, yeah, I can picture him," interrupted Harley, smiling.

"Just making sure," he said, smiling and kissing her. "So this clown was really funny, like I said, and went around trying to make people laugh according to his sense of humor. Funny thing though – nobody really understood his sense of humor. Nobody really thought he was funny, and this kinda annoyed the clown. He _was _funny, y'see, but his audience was a buncha humorless chumps who idolized this other moron in a batsuit. So anyway, this clown went around telling his jokes that nobody laughed at, when one day he met this dame."

"What kinda dame?" asked Harley, beaming.

"Well, kinda indescribable," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Like no dame he'd ever met before. Smart, pretty, brave, and best of all, she thought he was funny. She understood him. And he thought she was pretty great too. And I guess when two people see the world in the same kinda way, when they share the same sense of humor and the same kinda insanity, they call that love. So I guess that's what the Joker and Harley Quinn had. That was this doll's name, Harley Quinn, so really they couldn't have been any more perfect for each other. And they made each other happy. They made each other smile."

Harley beamed, but was unable to conceal a yawn. "Tired, kid?" he murmured, kissing her.

"Nah uh," she insisted, stifling another yawn. "So what kinda adventures did they have, the Joker and Harley Quinn?"

"Hmm…I think that's another story for another night, don't you, pooh?" he whispered. "You can barely keep your eyes open."

"I'm not tired!" she repeated. "Tell me the…"

She was cut off by another yawn. "I'll skip to the end," he said, grinning. "And they both lived happily ever after, together forever."

Harley smiled. "I like that ending," she whispered, curling up against him. "Night, my Joker."

"Night, my little Harley Quinn," he murmured.

She was asleep in moments, a peaceful smile on her face. She hadn't slept with a smile on her face in years. And strangely enough, neither had the Joker. But tonight was different. Tonight was the beginning of something special, something happy, something worth smiling about, for both of them.

His own smile lit up his face as he held her close and shut his eyes, dropping off to sleep shortly after.

**The End**


End file.
